Royai Roulette
by LadyAureliana
Summary: This is a collection of short stories and one-shots featuring Mustang, Hawkeye, and friends within a variety of settings and time periods. No. 3 - The Doctor and the Gunsmith. Royai.
1. The Hunted

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Hello! This is an unexpected short-ish story that I started writing on vacation, and the idea would not leave me alone until I finished it. This was inspired by one of the Royai prompts, Military Personnel, as well as portions of the movie Centurion, which tells one version of the disappearance of Rome's Ninth Legion in ancient Scotland. I changed a few things, and switched the setting to the FMA universe (without alchemy). I hope you like the story :)

 **AN:** (5/12/18) Updated with a few corrections - no changes to plot.

* * *

 **The Hunted** – Southern Drachma, 100 A.D.

Roy had been running for days, so long that he'd forgotten the last time he was able to fall to the ground and gasp for air like a man drowning. The others felt it as well, he knew. They were three legionnaires in the Amestrian military, fleeing for their lives in an unfamiliar hell, each trying to ignore the near certainty that they would soon die. Part of him wondered if that's why they were sent on a fool's errand, to die.

At that moment, however, such thoughts were useless, and he instead focused on forcing one foot to plod in front of the other, nearly rolling his ankle on an unsteady rock. Mercifully, the man at the head of the line slowed, and the trio wasted no time in collapsing onto the frozen ground. He could feel the cold seeping through his skin, but ignored it in favor of the intense relief flooding his limbs. He'd even landed on a few stones, and only considered that long enough to be able to recognize the good fortune that he did not crack his skull.

All too soon his fingers grew stiff from the biting, snow-laden wind coupled with lack of motion and, taking a deep breath, he fought to stand in spite of protesting muscles and dwindling willpower. The cut on his abdomen tore open a bit with each movement but he pushed away the pain. "We must keep going." He'd given the men his word, and he would get them home.

The young centurion known as Ling groaned miserably, rolling onto his stomach to push himself up. He had only recently become a soldier, starting out as a tradesman following the legion north, and making a small fortune along the way. Now, he may never see Amestris again.

"Mustang."

He spun at the sound of his name to find the veteran, Fu, pointing to the north and, just where the mountains faded into snow and trees, a line of horses was visible following the ravine. His gut sank. "Let's move."

At the sight of their pursuers his body resumed its race more willingly, trudging up the slope and ever southward. They had escaped the Drachman encampment five days prior, after being taken captive during a scouting excursion, though for all he knew it might have been weeks; the hours simply bled together. The tracker following them was a woman, known as the Ice Queen, and somehow she always managed to find them. Her presence at their backs was constant, and she moved with the unhurried gait of a predator that knew its prey could only run so far. And she was correct. They were fatigued, half-starved, and racing through the Drachman wilderness in midwinter. If she did not end them, frostbite would.

They tried to forage for anything edible whenever possible, but the land was icy, with only scattered patches of barren soil. There were few animals to be found and most were small, scurrying away before they could be caught. When thoughts of food made his stomach churn painfully Roy stared ahead, hoping to suddenly see the Amestrian border in the distance. He never did.

Behind him rose a strangled cry and he thudded to a halt, turning to rush back the way he'd come and drop stiffly next to Ling, who lay on his back, writhing in pain and clutching his arm. Fu knelt by the man, putting a hand over his mouth to stifle the shouts, and Roy shook his head when he spotted a streak of white poking through skin. The solder had tried to break his fall, and broke bone instead.

He searched for anything he might use to bind it, settling for tearing several strips from his own tunic. Leaning over him, he said, "You _cannot_ scream." Ling's eyes widened in fright as he nodded furiously and Roy took his arm, glancing around them when the man bit back cries. He wrapped it securely, hoping to keep both bone and tissue in place until they had a moment to reset the injury properly. He only hoped they would find that moment.

They pulled Ling to his feet, the young soldier bracing the arm against his chest, face pinched in agony. Before they could even think of moving forward, the whinny of a horse was carried aloft on the wind and the men shared stunned, exasperated looks. "That woman is a demon," Fu growled, glowering northward as though he would rather take on the entire Drachman hoard than retreat any farther. "Only dark things could follow us in this." The experienced veteran had been in the army most of his life and, after surviving so many battles, Roy refused to let him die a fugitive in a foreign land.

"You're superstitious, old man." He received a scowl in response but paid it little mind. Lost in thought he slowed his pace and asked, "Ling...can you handle a climb? We need to move to higher ground."

The injured man shook his head hesitantly. "I doubt it."

"What do you have in mind?" Fu asked.

Roy gestured toward the ridge they'd been following. "I remember this place...this line runs for miles in either direction. If we climb, the horses won't be able to pursue, and we should be able to cross to the other side."

"They could follow us over on foot."

He nodded. "True, but not all of them. Some will have to stay with the mounts, and it will take them days to circle around."

The older man grinned. "And the storm's worsening. It'll buy us time."

"Ling?"

"You go. I'll lead them on a chase...give you time to escape. I'm only going to slow you down."

Roy shook his head. "I'm not leaving you behind." He gave him a light push, starting them up the steepening incline. "You didn't really have a choice."

They trudged higher, inevitably slowing as the ascent became more arduous, loose stones and exhaustion causing more than a few slips along the way. Unimaginably, the air grew colder, the wind whipping past them as the snowstorm intensified. White drifts continued to expand in various places along the rise, their depth difficult to ascertain. He searched behind, but blowing snow had almost obliterated the surrounding terrain, masking those who chased them from view. He hoped that would work in their favor as well.

Finally, after nearly an hour, he saw a gap in the ridge, two rocky crags jutting skyward on each side of the opening. He wordlessly pointed toward it before putting Ling's uninjured arm over his shoulder to help the man onward; the pain was clearly weakening him. Noticing how saturated with blood the improvised bandage had become, he attempted his best reassuring tone and said, "We'll rest soon."

With some difficulty they crossed the ridge line and started down the other side, still trying to head south whenever possible. He had to repeatedly keep them from gaining too much momentum on the downward trek, not wanting to lose his footing and crash into a tree downhill. They were, perhaps, halfway to the treeline when he felt something sharp graze his side. He winced, a few choice curses leaving him when an arrow stuck into the dirt several feet ahead. Forgetting his previous concerns, he increased his pace, careening down the slope with Ling while Fu whipped a knife back at the archer.

The trio continued the race, disappearing into the forest, but he brought them to a halt after they had only traveled several meters, lowering Ling to the ground to rest against a tree. Drawing the sword he'd managed to steal when they first escaped, Roy gestured for Fu to circle back in one direction and he took the other. To the young soldier he said, "Draw them here."

With Ling's pained shouts floating through the air he vanished into the haze of dim, snow-covered trees. For a short distance he could hear the man, until all sound melted away, muffled by thickly grown pines and brush. When he heard the softly padding steps of their followers, he concealed himself behind a rotund trunk, leaning his head back and taking a deep breath, eyes sliding shut. He shook out his sword arm, searching within for the tiny amount of energy he'd reserved for foolhardy, last-ditch attempts at freedom, the strength that always seemed to find him when he needed it most. He would still be slower than normal, however, which meant he had to make each strike count.

Listening to his enemy advance, he abruptly spun around the tree, but the man must have heard him because his gut-aimed attack was met with a firm block. They simultaneously stepped back and then Roy lunged, feinting right before spinning left and slashing at the enemy's shoulder. Rather than find its mark, his sword glanced off the man's blade and he felt metal cut into his own hip. Setting his jaw in frustration, he parried an attack with a somewhat wild swing and the Drachman's weapon became embedded in a tree. He then lashed out with a kick but his opponent jumped backward to avoid it and tripped over an exposed root when he did, landing awkwardly. While the man tried to rise Roy pulled the sword from the tree trunk with his free hand, running both blades across his throat before he could stand.

Embarrassingly short of breath, he spun to watch Fu wrench his weapon free of another pursuer's chest. "They sent only two?" the older soldier asked incredulously, both men stooping to pilfer anything useful from the bodies.

"This huntress' confidence is irksome," he muttered to himself. "We need to find somewhere to rest."

"I agree," Fu replied, filling his arms with the furs worn by the fallen. "But I'm unfamiliar with this terrain. I've never ventured to this side of the ridge."

"Nor have I...we'll find something."

They returned to Ling, divided the furs and food amongst themselves, and set off away from the mountains. The storm grew more intense as they went, the snow continuing to fall, and he could only hope that nature would cover their trail to some extent. It was a stroke of luck that the forest blocked much of the wind, as that last fight had drained what strength remained him, and the simple task of walking had become even more onerous.

At the sight of a light up ahead, he hardly dared to hope that they might find help and, when it turned out to be a small cottage, the others hurried toward it, smiling in relief. Roy, on the other hand, noticed the symbols etched into the bark of nearby trees, saw the bone-carved figurines hanging from branches. It was unnerving, but not enough to dissuade him from cautiously entering, nor was it sufficient to keep him from sitting next to the fire. Fu and Ling fell onto the bed and, somewhere in his fatigue-addled brain the thought surfaced that the bright candles scattered about the room surely meant the cabin's owner had not gone far. However, the warmth lulled him to sleep much too quickly for him to fully recognize that truth.

* * *

Pushing the basket's handle into the crook of her arm, Riza closed her eyes, a small smile curving her lips when snow flakes softly fell on her cheeks. The forest around her was quiet and, while some would find that eerie in the dead of night, for her it was peaceful. The wind occasionally whistled through the highest of branches, or even minutely jostled the hood covering her blonde hair, but within the protection of the trees there was mostly silence. To her companion, she said, "How do you always talk me into wandering around in the middle of the night?"

"You secretly enjoy it," Gracia replied, snow adorning her light brown locks. "And you _know_ this is the best time to harvest them." She gestured toward their baskets, which were laden with a type of mushroom that happened to flourish in the winter, conditions being a bit more mild in the woods.

"So you say."

" _And_ you love my wild mushroom soup."

"That's true enough." Seeing that they were nearing her one-room cottage, she added, "You go on in...I'll bring the rest." The domicile looked utterly quaint, blanketed white with two small windows glowing warmly. Inside it boasted a wooden bed with straw mattress and furs a modest table and bench made for her by a friend of Gracia's, and a stone fireplace. From the ceiling hung bunches of herbs to dry, which filled the cabin with a comforting scent, and a kettle bubbled on the fire for tea.

She had just reached the outdoor table where they'd set another basket when a piercing shriek cut through the night. It came from the cottage and she instantly dropped what she carried, rushing through the doorway where Gracia stood immobile. Not far away were three men, two near the bed and one before the fire, all of whom seemed to have been woken by the other woman's scream.

The men wore Drachman furs, but she could discern the tunic common to Amestrian soldiers beneath. The youngest held one arm to his chest, blood seeping from a rudimentary bandage, and the gray-haired soldier beside him watched her with the eyes of someone trying to ascertain the level of threat she presented. The tall man near the fire, whose dark hair hid his eyes, was the first to move, and when he stepped forward she pushed Gracia behind her and paced back through the door, saying in quiet Drachman, " _Find_ _help..._ _Run_."

Riza eyed the sword on her wall as she continued outside, lamenting the fact it was uselessly positioned out of her reach. She searched for anything she might use to defend herself and grabbed a pouch from the table, the older soldier coming toward her. Behind him, the tall centurion that seemed to be the leader said in Amestrian, "Put the knife down, Fu."

"She could be with _them_ ," the old man replied, still approaching slowly, knife in hand.

When he tried to grasp her wrist, she reached into the pouch for a fistful of the black powder therein and tossed it in his face. He coughed, lurching unsteadily in her direction and then, with a look of confusion, fell. Riza took his knife and faced the soldier that had first spoken, taking another large step backward when he drew his sword. Her back hit a tree and she instantly felt trapped but, rather than lunge for her, he adjusted his grip on the pommel and stabbed the blade into the ground. He also pulled out a knife and threw it aside before raising his hands and telling her in Drachman, " _It's not our intention to harm you_."

" _You_ _r_ _friend felt differently_." She paused to evaluate him, and saw he was wounded as well. " _Who are you_?"

" _We're soldiers. We've been_ _on foot_ _for_ _several days_ _and are in desperate need of food and shelter_." He waved toward the cabin. " _My comrade is injured. I only ask for your aid_." More quietly, and with a sincere note of entreaty, he added, " _Please_."

Riza examined him for a long moment, and then switched languages. "Do all Amestrians make themselves comfortable in strangers' homes? Or just the soldiers?"

His lips quirked in curious amusement. "Just us soldiers. We've terrible manners." He reached out a tentative hand and she shook it, pulling her hand back immediately. "You speak Amestrian."

She nodded, watching closely while he sheathed his sword. "And you speak Drachman. I've met very few soldiers that have taken the time to learn it."

He started to respond, but a crash inside the cottage drew their attention, and she eyed the man somewhat apprehensively. Making a decision, she rushed by him and knelt next to the injured soldier who had collapsed, peeling back the dressing. The wound was dirty and red, the limb was inflamed surrounding the injury, and she saw something white that she feared was bone. "How is he? I couldn't set it correctly before."

"It needs cleaned. Get him onto the bed and I'll redress it." She was passing him to fetch some cloth and herbs when he firmly grasped her arm and pulled her behind him. Riza made to protest but he shook his head and half-drew his sword, eyes closed as if intently listening. He then tore it from the scabbard, leveling it at the neck of her neighbor who came bounding through the door. The newcomer raised his weapon to respond in kind, knocking the blade aside, and then she stepped between them before the situation could escalate. She placed a hand on the soldier's wrist to lower his sword and raised the other to her friend as a signal that he should back down. "It's alright, Maes. They haven't hurt me. They need help." For an instant, she thought she saw a glimmer of recognition in the Amestrian's eyes at the mention of her friend's name, but she was not sure.

"And the man outside?" Maes asked, eyes warily jumping from one stranger to the next.

"He was a threat and I handled it. He's still alive." She watched them until both men sheathed their weapons and then said, waving toward the man on the bed, "Take this one to Gracia, will you? She's much better with broken bones. I'll come seal the wound in a little while."

Her friend nodded, still observing the centurions with unveiled suspicion. "I'll take the one outside to Edward and have him secured."

"Thank you."

He lifted the young man and moved to leave. "I can come back."

With a look at the leader she shook her head. "I'll be fine." Maes disappeared and, when the Amestrian seemed to want to follow, she put a hand on his chest. "Your friends aren't in danger. Gracia will set the boy's break, and the old man will be awake in a few hours."

"What did you do to him?"

Riza started collecting various items: a needle carved from bone, herbs, a jug of wine, sutures, and cloth bandages. "There's a tree that grows near here. When its bark is ground into a fine powder and inhaled it induces sleep." Setting all she'd gathered on the table she said, "Remove your furs and tunic, please."

He let out a dubious chuckle. "Excuse me?"

"You're bleeding in a few places...I'll take a look if you like."

He appraised her for a short time and then did as she asked, placing his neatly folded belongings on the bed. He took a seat on the bench she indicated and she sat on a stool, facing him to give herself better access to the obvious cut on his chest. It stretched five inches and crossed the lower portion of his sternum diagonally, the right end slicing up across muscle while the left spanned downward over two ribs. It was bright red and, judging by his sharp but quiet inhalation when she touched the edge, it was also tender. Picking up the jug to drink the wine and thus demonstrate the lack of poison, she poured it on a square of cloth to clean the wound.

She could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath he took and, in light of their current position, now had an unobstructed view of his features: eyes as dark as his hair, a surprisingly straight nose given his occupation, muscular frame, angular jaw. And his skin was soft, not toughened by numerous battle scars or the elements as she might have expected.

Once the cut was cleaned to her liking she took up the needle, along with the flax sutures she had made, and caught his eye. "Ready?"

With a wave of his hand he requested the wine and took a long, preparatory swig. "I'm Roy Mustang….second in command of the garrison at General Brigg's wall." He shrugged. "I thought you should know my name, seeing as you're about to stab me repeatedly."

She started to smile at the unanticipated declaration, and shook his hand once again. "Riza Hawkeye...I fear I have no striking title to give."

As she inserted the curved needle for the first stitch, he asked, "Do you plan to use your magic powder on me?"

She pulled the thread through, guiding it carefully. "No, but I can if you prefer."

"I'll manage." He downed another swig of wine. "I apologize for invading your home without invitation."

Riza briefly met his eye while she worked. "Accepted." Throwing several more stitches, she added, "Brigg's wall...You're far from home."

He gave a clipped nod. "We were taken prisoner on an excursion north of the wall. We escaped almost a week ago."

"Who hunts you?"

Mustang shrugged again, wincing when it pulled at the stitches. "They call her the Ice Queen, that's all I know."

She sighed softly. "Her name is Olivier, and she's never once lost her prey." She tied off the thread and took out a knife to cut the needle free.

"That inspires confidence."

"I thought you'd find honesty more useful." She leaned back for more sutures. "This storm will buy you a few days at least...that's something. Now, where's the next injury?"

With astonished eyes he pointed to his side. "That was fast." A brief pause followed that comment. "Your technique is...familiar. Where did you learn this?"

She repeated the same process she'd used for the other cut, starting with the cleaning. "There's a military post four days southwest of here. I lived there for nineteen years and was apprentice to the medicus for five. It's how I know your language."

"First, I've never met a medicus with a female apprentice..."

"I had the steadiest hands in the garrison," she interjected. "And second?"

"Second, I assumed your ability to speak my language had something to do with the gladius on the wall." He hooked a thumb at it. "If you grew up in a garrison, I'd hazard a guess that your father was an Amestrian centurion."

Her hands stilled and she glanced at the sword in question before resuming her work. "Your powers of observation are...irritating."

She both felt and heard his slow exhalation. "Apologies for my rudeness, but finding someone like you here, in the middle of the Drachman mountains...well, it's curious."

"Someone like me?"

"Riza," a voice interrupted, and she looked up to find Maes at her door. "Gracia's ready for you to stitch the gash on the boy's arm. And she has soup on the fire."

"We'll be finished in a few minutes." Returning her attention to her patient, she saw that blood soaked a section of his trousers near the his right hip and carefully pulled them lower, nodding distractedly when she half-heard Maes inform her that he would wait. The wound was deeper than the others, so much so that it was necessary to hold the cut open to flush it, and she felt him shift. With her friend present silence fell over the group, for which she was thankful as Roy Mustang had been getting entirely too inquisitive. Still, after the way he'd set aside his weapons to reassure her, and even moved to protect her before he knew Maes was no enemy, she did not feel threatened by him.

"Done," she announced, putting several items in a pouch and throwing on her cloak while the Amestrian dressed. When they strode out into the cold night air Maes positioned himself between them, one hand poised on the hilt of his own gladius.

Once inside Gracia's cottage, she immediately set to work on the young soldier's wound, this requiring a few more sutures than Mustang's injuries. Shortly after she started his pained squirming necessitated that she place a pinch of the black powder she'd used before in a mug of wine and, as soon as he drank it, his body relaxed. The drug was not as potent when taken orally, but it would suffice. With him calmed she closed the gash quickly, after which the other woman wrapped it tightly to keep the limb stable.

Riza then dropped onto a stool at the table and gratefully accepted her own share of wine coupled with a bowl of soup. "It smells wonderful."

"It does," Mustang seconded from her left, taking the seat beside hers. Another bowl was energetically plopped before him, Gracia evidently still feeling anxious about the unexpected visitors.

"Where are you stationed?" Maes asked to begin the conversation.

"The wall. I was sent into Drachman territory and captured." He set his utensil down and wiped his hand on his tunic before offering it to the other man. "The name's Mustang...and I cannot thank you enough for your assistance." Maes only shook his hand with a crisp nod, and the Amestrian continued hesitantly, "Where did you come by that gladius?" Riza tensed instantly at the question, and she saw Gracia nervously stir her soup.

"A traveler passing through found it on a dead soldier. I bartered it from him."

"Do you get many visitors passing through?" His food was already nearly gone, a testament to his level of hunger.

"No," Gracia softly responded. "They think we're witches...it keeps most people away."

"But not you," Maes added more forcefully.

The soldier was silent for a few seconds. "I saw the bones, and the carvings, but I was too exhausted to be afraid. We needed help." After another moment's hesitation, he stood and walked toward the door, indicating the other man's weapon with a hand. "You've nothing to worry about from me."

The three villagers eyed each other after their guest left, until Gracia broke the silence. "He _did_ remember you." Maes had met her when she was taken prisoner by the Amestrians, and deserted with her when he realized they meant to kill her. While he was not a high priority, his general would doubtless wish to make an example of him if given the opportunity.

"We'll simply have to hope he's a man of his word, though I believe if he meant to turn me in as a deserter, we'd know." His eyes leapt to the doorway and then to Riza. "I think you should stay here tonight. I'll take them back to your cabin."

She shook her head, standing and reaching for her cloak. "You have the extra bed...keep the boy here, he shouldn't move right now. I'll be alright with Mustang, and Fu can stay where he is."

"And if they dislike being separated? There's no way to know what they may do. I'd feel better if..."

"No," she interrupted, finishing her wine. "I believe he understands the situation he's put us in. I'm more worried about when Olivier might arrive."

Maes stood sharply. "You failed to mention that woman is after them."

"My apologies. I've been a touch _occupied_."

"Yes...busy risking our lives. If we were smart we'd turn them away."

"That's not our way," Gracia spoke up. "And you know it." She cut over his attempted protests to say, "I know you're trying to keep us safe, but the Ice Queen has earned none of our allegiance. I refuse to do anything that could even be construed as aiding her. I'm sure the others will agree."

"Forgive me. I dislike having centurions here..." He heaved a sigh. "...it's brought back memories I've fought to forget."

"They won't be here long," Riza replied, attempting to reassure him. She knew he felt no real ill will toward the men and was only worried for the safety of their small community, and for good reason. "Everything will be _fine_." With that she stepped outside, brow rising in surprise when she saw Mustang leaning against a tree, waiting for her. "I thought you'd gone."

He matched her pace. "I didn't think it right to leave you to traipse through the dark forest alone."

"I frequently traipse around alone, as you say." She glanced over at him, but his face was in shadow. "But thank you."

They were soon back at her cozy cottage and, hanging her cloak on a hook, she took the spare from a shelf and passed it to him. "I've no other blankets, but this is warm, and I'm afraid I only have the floor for you to sleep on."

"The floor is perfect," he said, taking the cloak with a nod of gratitude. "I'm sure it's more comfortable than stone." He was asleep as soon as his head hit the rolled up fur serving as his pillow, while Riza quietly went around blowing out candles. Crawling into bed herself, she contemplated the strange evening and wondered what the next day would bring.

* * *

Over the following days Roy fell into an unforeseen and strangely domestic routine, one that he had not experienced since his teenage years, when he left home to join the military after his parents' death. Each day he would accompany her to check on Ling, who was healing well, and Fu, who was regretful of his earlier behavior. He'd also taken it upon himself to make the odd repair around her modest cottage, fetch fresh water for her, or perform any other task he thought might be useful. It was the least he could do to show his gratitude for her hospitality, but his assistance had caught her completely off guard.

When he first walked into the cabin with his arms full of freshly split kindling, Riza had looked at him as though he were some wholly inhuman creature, as if she never would have expected the help in a thousand years. She stared at him in shock for a brief time, and then finally smiled, indicating the small rack to the left of the fireplace which he filled. While she continued the preparations for bread, and a stew which smelled delectable, he chopped more logs for the fire. Afterward, she thanked him by checking his sutures and handing him a jug of wine to sip while she worked.

Their evenings were generally spent reading while the snowstorm raged on with no signs of ceasing. She had several books from her time at the garrison and he was thrilled, not having lain eyes on a book in ten years. Eventually, she would curl up in bed and fall asleep, and he would take up his usual position on the floor. They often chatted during their time together, but Roy never again broached the subject of her parentage, as it seemed a sensitive issue. He'd been able to tell the moment he met her that she was only half-Drachman, the other half in all likelihood Amestrian, and he wondered how a woman with her medical skills ended up in a remote village near the mountains. His own garrison could certainly use a medicus of her caliber.

They did not stray from this routine until the third evening of his stay, when the village had a gathering to celebrate the marriage of a young man called Edward to a woman named Winry, who he heard was the best baker around. It was when the lot of them were crammed into Gracia's and Maes' cabin that he noticed the way Riza's face lit up when she laughed. Mirth glittered in her eyes, and her smile was warm, but it was barely an instant later that his own face fell when he caught sight of an ominous scar on her neck. Someone, at some point, had tried to slit her throat, and it occurred to him that he rather disliked that idea.

Later that night, after they returned to her cottage, her cheeks gorgeously pink from wine, she looked at him with her head tilted curiously. "You're not like other soldiers."

"How so?" he asked, his lips forming a grin of their own accord in response to her infectious smile. He poured her a mug of tea, adding a small amount of honey as he'd seen her do each morning, and slid it toward her across the table.

"Your friend Fu, for instance." She took a sip, nodding to inform him she liked it. "His first instinct was to be rid of me and use what he needed from my humble home. Yours was to protect me and seek my aid instead." She paused. "Why did you join the military?"

He held held her gaze, idly twisting the gold and obsidian ring on his right middle finger, the one remnant of his family's heritage. "My parents died when I wasn't much older than Ling. I'm a mason by trade but no one wanted to hire a man of Xingese descent, not after the recent conflicts with Xing. I had few options." He took a hesitant breath. "What happened to your neck?"

Her eyes instantly saddened. "It was a parting gift from a friend." His brow furrowed at the unanticipated and confusing reply, but she quickly changed the subject. "I should check your dressings." Suddenly she was kneeling next to him, lifting his tunic to delicately feel her expertly done sutures, and he could only watch her: fair skin shimmering, lips parted in concentration, cheeks slightly redder than before. "You'll have to cut the stitches once you've gone." She smirked. "I trust you'll be able to do so without ruining my good work?"

"I'll manage."

Possibly avoiding his eyes, she abruptly took his hand, examining the ring he'd been toying with, running a finger over the Xingese character etched into the gemstone. "I'm sorry about your family."

He gave a tiny nod. "Thank you."

She moved to the table. "The symbol. What does it mean?"

"Honor."

"Fitting."

"Shall I take that as your way of calling me honorable?"

She only smiled. "Goodnight."

After that their pattern resumed, the only other change being that they began to take a morning walk together. She would explain the best routes they could take to the garrison, depending on weather and other factors, and he would make mental notes for when he left. Then, two nights after the gathering for the wedding, she offered to give him half the bed, noticing that he'd developed pain in his neck after so many evenings spent on the ground and then the floor.

"Control your hands, centurion," she teased as he joined her.

He did not sleep well that night, thoughts focused on the woman next to him, and he could tell she lay awake as well. The next morning she rose early, draped her cloak over her shoulders, and left without a word, basket in hand. Once she was gone he put a kettle on the fire for when she returned and busied himself with the chores he taken on during the past several days.

With the sun continuing to rise overhead and her absence lengthening, he began to worry, and had just stopped in to ask Gracia where her friend liked to disappear to when shouts suddenly came from outside. The sound of someone being thrown to the ground had him striding toward the door, even as a voice yelled in Drachman, " _Outside, traitors_!"

Maes appeared in front of him to stop his progress. "Get yourself, Ling, and Fu into the grain store under the floor. And don't make a sound." When he did not move, the man added, "If you storm out there it'll be worse for everyone."

Roy set his jaw, contemplating something extremely stupid, when Fu grabbed his arm and yanked him into the grain store next to Ling, pushing floorboards into place above their heads. Maes and Gracia joined the others outdoors and, when the same authoritative woman spoke again, he could only assume it was the Ice Queen. " _Three fugitives passed this way...tell me where they are_."

" _I've already told you_ ," he heard Riza defiantly respond. " _We've had no visitors, seen no one_." There was a pause, then, " _Search my home if you must, but touch nothing. I'd rather not have to burn it down_."

There was an indistinct shout, and through his mind ran images of someone grabbing her by the hair, placing a knife to her throat. As he imagined the worst his hand reached for his sword, but Ling put a hand on his arm before he could draw it, shaking his head.

Outside, a gruff voice said, " _Olivier, enough. You know her death would bring a curse on us_."

Yet another yell rose outside the cabin as she was no doubt thrown to the ground and then he heard nothing, and he did not realize why until a tall, heavy-set Drachman thudded into the hut, looked around the single room, and left. They were searching the village. After what felt like an age but was probably only several minutes, the hunters left, hoof beats fading away to silence. At that point he threw a loose floorboard aside and crawled from the cellar, sprinting to Hawkeye's door and nearly colliding with Maes when he entered her cottage. She was seated on a stool in front of the fire, turned away from him, and he fell to his knees at her side, lifting her face toward him with a finger under her chin. His stomach clenched.

A cut above her right eye dribbled blood down to her jaw, a bruise was already spreading on her left cheekbone, and that Ice Queen bitch had nicked her neck. He scowled, hand forming a fist, but she spoke before he could. "No lasting damage done." When he opened his mouth to argue she continued, "This wasn't my first beating. I'll live."

"We've put you at too great a risk. We'll leave."

She looked away, giving a light shake of the head. "No sense in your leaving now that they've passed through. Better to wait a day or two." She met his gaze again. "Or you could be dead by nightfall."

"I don't understand, they're your people. Why do they treat you this way?"

"Those Drachmans are _not_ my people," she rejoined vehemently, more anger and pain her her voice than he'd heard in their short time together. "These are my people." She waved a hand toward the village. "When my father died the Amestrians forced us to leave. We came to Drachma, to my mother's family, but soon Olivier began to suspect us of witchcraft. To prove it she had my throat slit, and took the fact that my mother was able to save me as evidence that we were witches." She pulled part of her dress aside to show him the scar. "Fortunately, the man she ordered to kill me was rather...fond of me. It could have been worse."

"A parting gift from a friend," he muttered, repeating what she had told him before. With a slow exhalation he shook his head again, curling a few strands of hair behind her ear, cupping her face, and running his thumb over her uninjured cheek. "I am so sorry."

Riza's lips fell open slightly in response, her eyes flicking from his gaze down to his mouth and back. He saw her chest rise, her hand reaching for the one he still had at her cheek, fingers lightly grazing his skin. Wiping a little dirt from under her eye, he grinned, and then Gracia came walking in and announced, "I brought more wine...you'd run out." The blonde slowly lowered his hand before releasing it, and there was a brief silence as the other woman observed them curiously. "If you'll excuse us, I need to close the cut over her eye."

With an awkward nod Roy stood. "Right...of course." He tried to catch her eye, and she gave him a little smile as he left to offer any assistance that might be needed. He whiled away the time helping to fix what damage the Drachmans caused to various homes and, by the time he returned to the cottage, it was already midday. She looked up at him when he stepped inside and leaned his sword against the wall, filling a mug with tea and gesturing for him to join her at the table. He watched the steam rise for several seconds before asking, "Are you alright?"

She nodded and, when she spoke, her voice was softer than usual. "I'm fine."

He tore a chunk of bread from the loaf on the table, more to entertain his hands than to eat. "Why did you help us, knowing they'd see it as a betrayal?"

Riza watched him, the corners of her lips turning upward. "Because I'm free to help whomever I wish." She paused, stirring honey into her tea. "And because you're a good man...you don't deserve the death Olivier would give you."

He slowly slid the ring from his finger and, taking her hand, pressed it into her palm. "I'd like you to have it."

She shook her head. "I couldn't..."

"Please. As a reminder of how grateful I am to you for saving us." He held her hand momentarily. "We would _not_ have survived without you."

She turned it around, running a finger over the band. "Thank you."

After that they fell into their recently formed habit of sharing dinner, conversation, and a little wine. When they settled down to read he tried to force his eyes to follow the lines on the page, but more often than not they stole glances at the blonde. She looked lovely in the firelight and, though he had resolved to leave the next day, he knew a surprisingly large part of him had started to dread leaving the peaceful village. Still, Roy had sworn to his men that he would do everything in his power to get them home, and he would not let them down.

To that end, he woke early the following morning and once more dressed in warm Drachman furs, since the frigid wind had not subsided even if the bulk of the storm had. The sun was bright, only the periodic snowflake flew on the breeze, and the improved weather gave him higher hopes. Just before their departure, Riza approached them in the center of town, handed him a satchel of food, and gave him a small smile. "Good luck, Amestrian."

"The same to you, witch." He paused, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Thank you. For everything." She responded with a silent nod and he turned to leave, Maes leading them toward the ideal path that would take them to the garrison. At the top of a nearby hill he took a moment to look back, but she was already gone.

* * *

The first two days of their travels were comprised of an uncommonly tranquil run through the snow-covered woods, only interrupted by nighttime breaks in which they slept fitfully and stretched the provisions as long as possible. To their dismay the huntress soon found their trail, and they spent the remainder of the trek to the garrison racing through the trees, thoughts of hot meals keeping them moving. Their disappointment was indescribably acute when they reached an empty fort, with a hastily scribbled note tacked to the wall informing them that General Levan's force had been ordered to fall back to a position ten miles further south. Roy upended a table in frustration, and Ling said in defeat, "We should go...they'll be coming."

"I'm _sick_ of running." Hands on his hips, he perused the treeline and then faced his men. "And you?"

Fu nodded, drawing his sword for emphasis. "I'm in the mood to kill a few Drachmans."

"Ling?"

"Did I mention I hate running?"

Roy chuckled, and the trio set about building what barricades they could, planning their most effective defense, and positioning in strategic places the weapons left behind by the garrison's previous occupants. Ling stood at a look-out post with a pile of spears, Roy at another with the lone bow and quiver of arrows they'd found, and Fu stood menacingly on the ground level, watching the swinging doors and waiting for some unfortunate Drachman to enter. They were no sooner ready than their pursuers materialized on the dirt road, riding lazily to the fort.

The blonde, who must have been the Ice Queen, drew a sword and the group spread out, all galloping toward the wooden garrison. Roy let out a loud whistle, his signal that the enemy was trying to flank them, and then shared a look with Ling, both men letting weapons fly simultaneously. His arrow found a Drachman chest even as the first horseman crashed into the square below. He continued to fire, the clash of blades ringing behind him with Fu engaged, Ling's spears finding target after target, and he began to feel hopeful until the younger man received an arrow to the back. The enemy had found a way inside, climbing from horseback up the log-built walls and onto the second story walkway.

"Ling!" he shouted as the boy fell, loosing all his remaining arrows in quick succession and dropping three more attackers. Ripping his sword from its scabbard, he blocked one burly Drachman's spear, kicking him up against a pylon and running him through. A groan escaped him when an arrow lodged in his left upper arm and, wrenching his blade free, he snapped the arrow shaft. Sprinting toward the enemy archer, he dropped into a roll to avoid another projectile and, when he came to his feet, swiped at the bow with his weapon, taking the man's hand in the process. Spinning away to dodge the Drachman's last ditch lunge with a dagger, he knocked the knife away and sliced open his gut.

Roy looked up just in time to see Fu finish of his third enemy, a shout of anger leaving him when a spear pierced the older man's side. Searching the small yard, he found the huntress and ran toward her, jumping down onto her horse and taking them both to the ground. She hopped to her feet, sword in hand, and he rolled away, scrambling for his blade and blocking three attacks while still trying to stand. He then swept a leg around to knock her feet out from under her, rolled on top of her, and she landed a punch to his jaw, to which he replied with an elbow to hers. They spun again, this time onto his back, and she rammed a dagger at his face which he blocked it with a hand, jaw clenching as the blade passed through his palm. He punched her in the temple, her head whipped to the side, and he quickly kicked her in the stomach to send her off him. Clambering to his feet, he slowly pulled the knife from his hand as he walked toward her, kneeing her in the head when she tried to stand.

Lifting her by the hair with one hand, he brought the dagger to her throat with the other. She glared up at him with icy blue eyes full of hatred and muttered in Drachman, " _Shit eating Amestrian...burn in hell_."

From nowhere she produced another blade, jamming it into his leg, and he grimaced, shoving the dagger into her neck and giving it an angry twist. Pulling out the weapon embedded in his thigh, he limped to both Fu and Ling in turn, finding no signs of life in either man. For a while he lay next to Ling's corpse, staring at the destruction surrounding him and wondering what in hell he should do, where he should go. When only one truly desirable option occurred to him, he rose agonizingly to his feet and climbed onto the Ice Queen's horse, blood streaking up the animal's flanks.

* * *

Riza lay on the chilled ground, staring up at a midnight blue sky dotted with white and distractedly spinning the gold and obsidian ring on her index finger. She had taken a walk to clear her mind under the pretext of harvesting more mushrooms, even if it was not quite the middle of the night, only late evening. In the ten days since the soldiers' departure, Gracia had been keeping a weather eye on her, as if expecting some powerful reaction. Her friend was convinced that she had witnessed 'something almost happen' and, while it was true she had enjoyed her time with Mustang, gotten to know him more than she'd intended, she had never been under any illusions that his time there would be anything other than short-lived. She had only known the man six days.

With a sigh she heaved herself to her feet and trudged down the hill, aware that Gracia was apt to send out a search party after what happened during her last solitary walk. She'd reached the trees, and was following the small, well-worn trail back to the collection of cottages when the snap of a twig caused her spine to stiffen. She reached for her knife, just able to discern a lone horse strolling through the woods, its rider slouching and swaying in the saddle. Her curiosity piqued, she strode toward it, smiling in spite of herself when she recognized the way the traveler's short, black hair stuck up in all directions. She heard a mumbled, "...Riza..." and he dismounted clumsily, promptly listing to one side.

She raced toward him, reaching him just in time to support some of his weight as he dropped to the ground. Gripping his arm, her jaw dropped in horror when she felt an arrow shaft jutting out of the skin, saw the gash on his thigh, the puncture wound through his hand. Her eyes grew wide in concern at all the damage and she partially turned to yell for help, hoping she was close enough to be heard. "Maes!"

He grabbed her hand, taking a raspy breath, and grinned when his finger ran over the ring. "You wore it." He cupped her face, grazing a thumb over her cheek, and she met his gaze, her lips curved. Foregoing the previous hesitation, he kissed her softly. "I should have done that before."

"You're forgiven." She teased, solidifying her grip on him. "And you're back..." she added, the utterance somewhere between declaration and question. While she felt like a complete idiot for stating the obvious, she was thoroughly surprised by his return, having assumed they would never see each other again.

He nodded. "To stay, if you'll have me."

Riza smiled. "I suppose." She looked him over and added, helping him rise laboriously to his feet, "Didn't I tell you not to ruin my good work?"

He chuckled and then groaned in pain. "No jokes, please." With her arm around his waist and the horse's reins in her other hand, they began the slow walk back to her cottage, snow falling lightly around them.

Fin

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story, and have a good one! :)


	2. The Lost Sorceress (Part 1)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Hello everyone! I hope you're having a wonderful day. This story came about after I'd watched a couple movie versions of Beauty and the Beast, one the recent Hollywood live-action and the other a French film, also live-action, that had a slightly different take. Anyway, that got me thinking about what my own reworking of a fairy tale might look like and I started writing this. It's _very_ loosely based on the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale and, since it ended up being much longer than anticipated, I've split it into two chapters. I plan to have the second half up in the next day or so, after another read-through and some editing. I hope you like it!

P.S. A response to a guest review for 'The Hunted' can be found at the end of this post.

 **AN:** (5/12/18) Updated with some corrections - no changes to plot.

* * *

 **The Lost Sorceress** (Part 1)

The Northern Kingdom of Amestris – 1366

The hour was late and the torchlight dim as Riza Hawkeye, High Sorceress of the Five Kingdoms, hastily drew symbols in blood on the polished marble floor. A heavy silence had fallen on the vestibule in which she knelt, expecting the magnificent, iron-sheathed doors to open at any moment. A single set of footfalls abruptly echoed down the hall but she continued to work, with a dexterity and assurance that came from years devoted to practice.

The enchantment began with a quinquetra in the center, representing the magical elements of fire, earth, water, and wind, as well as sorcery itself. This was bordered by a circle around which a complex series of runes was traced, largely Drachman and Xerxian in origin. The entirety was enclosed by a final concentric circle intended to provide a boundary for the energy within. As she dipped two fingers into the chalice of lamb's blood in her hand, a voice behind her finally said, "You're going through with it."

She spared a glance for Maes Hughes, a sorcerer of the Northern Kingdom and one of the most capable practitioners she'd ever met. "I see no other option, do you?"

He crouched beside her, eyes scanning the sigil. "This is ludicrous, Riza. You don't have to do this."

"We both know I'm the only one who can." She added a last stroke to one of the runes and stood, taking a step back to evaluate her work. "Did you evacuate everyone?"

He exhaled in resignation. "Yes...your father took some convincing."

"What did you tell him?" Taking out a handkerchief she wiped the blood from her skin, voice quiet.

"The truth. And he agreed with _me_ , by the way." He paused, and when he next spoke the anger in his voice was gone. "My apologies...I simply cannot believe it's come to this."

"I wish it hadn't." Her tone was sad for a moment, but then she gave a resolute nod. "It's ready...you should go."

"I think I'll stay, if it's all the same to you."

"It's not." Riza set the goblet aside and turned to face him, giving her friend a small, reassuring smile. "Thank you, Maes, but you have a wife and daughter who need you, and there's no reason to risk taking you from them." When he remained motionless, she added, "I can force you to leave, if you like."

"That won't be necessary, but I'll ask you once more to reconsider."

Thunder rumbled outside, so loudly that the walls shook and the chandeliers above swayed. "She's here. _Go_..." They shook hands, and she tried to come to terms with the fact that his was the last amiable face she would ever see. "Farewell, my friend."

"Good luck." He shook his head. "Gracia's going to kill me."

She chuckled as he left, passing a hand over the symbols to call a breeze that would hasten the drying process. The candles flickered in the airflow, and then moonlight suddenly spilled into the atrium as the doors were pushed open. Riza stepped into the middle of the enchantment, watching the tall, broad-shouldered woman that strode through the entrance, her hair pulled into a taught bun. The new arrival's calculating eyes scanned the room while she fingered the string of pearls at her neck. "Clever girl." She took a few more steps, gesturing behind her. "You _lured_ me here."

"I'm a bit shocked you fell for our ploy. It appears your lust for power has gotten the better of you." She shifted her skirt to keep the circle covered. "You allowed your judgment to be compromised."

"Is this where you lecture me on my wicked, wicked ways, _High Sorceress_?"

"No, Chris." With a flick of her fingers Riza closed the grand double doors and, with another, she pulled the other woman forward, trapping her in a second sigil. "This is where you die."

Palms facing the floor, she activated the spell, closing her eyes as an impossibly bright blue-white light erupted from the boundaries traced in blood. Energy roared around her, yanking at her gown, but she continued to put all her power into the enchantment, coaxing it into being. Then the light intensified and, lifeless, she fell.

* * *

The Westlands, Amestris (Formerly the Western Kingdom of Amestris) – 1463

The wind screeched menacingly outside the manor while Roy Mustang stared disconsolately at the smooth stone in the floor of his mother's chambers. Her hand was limp in his, she'd fallen asleep hours ago, and the doctor's words still echoed in his foggy mind: fever, delirium, muscle atrophy, loss of reason, seizures, dehydration, loss of appetite...two months...perhaps three. She had already tried to dive off the balcony four times, and if she lasted another three months it would be an absolute miracle.

Her health had been deteriorating for a year, beginning with the periodic bout of forgetfulness or fatigue prior to evolving into something considerably more severe. The first time she'd been confined to her bed they were terrified, but then she recovered, her energy returned, and they were ecstatic. Then a month later it happened again, and again, until his mother was forced to spend more time abed then anywhere else. When the hallucinations started she'd scream for hours, petrified by the body-less heads floating by the windows and the centipedes that crawled over her body. She was now a ghost of the woman she'd been, beaming smile and radiant eyes replaced by a haggard gaze and bony cheeks.

There were times that Roy walked by her quarters at night and could hear his father softly pleading with her to live, voice beseeching, "Lenora, _please_." They were completely ignorant of the cause of her illness, and now it seemed they would have to accept the inevitable.

With creaking joints and a heavy sigh his father, Duke of the Westlands, rose to his feet at the other side of the bed, taking sedate and discouraged steps toward the door. "You should come down for dinner."

"I lack the appetite." His father's only reaction was a quiet grunt and, after the heavy oak door thudded closed, Roy scanned the fire which burned low, a few glowing embers falling from the logs here and there. He stared so long that he lost track of time, taking advantage of the solitude to allow the intense grief that he'd repeatedly fought back to well in his eyes. His mother was the kindest woman in the world, and she deserved much more than a slow death that degraded her mind and body until nothing of her former self remained. Their home had become bleak during her illness, and he could not imagine it would return to its former happiness in her absence.

His head tilted slightly when an ember popped free and, rather than fall, levitated half a foot above the fire. It was joined by several others and they began to spin, whipping around a central point and drawing bright, interconnected lines in the air. The wind battering the windows worsened, bringing with it indistinguishable whispers. His hand tightened around his mother's frail one and a large gust of air from the chimney caused the candle flames to jump. The spinning mass still glowed brilliantly, elongating and slowly moving to hover over the stones just in front of the grate. Then something clanged to the floor and the embers stopped their flight, drifting slowly downward. Hesitantly, he paced forward to find a metal cylinder covered in unrecognizable inscriptions, and knelt to pick it up.

"Free her."

He whirled at the sound of a voice behind him, losing his balance and crashing to the floor with an extreme lack of grace. Before him stood a nearly translucent woman, like the very wind had somehow been spun and molded into her shape. Her eyes glowed a muted blue and, upon a closer look, he could see the condensed air swirling within her limbs.

"You know what I am?" she asked, voice sounding hollow and echoed, as if she spoke from a great distance.

He nodded, dumbfounded. "You're one of the sylphen...sprites that serve sorceresses. It was thought you'd died out."

She let out a lighthearted, almost mocking, giggle. "Not dead..." The sylph knelt beside him, placing the cylinder in his lap. "Free her and your mother can be saved."

"Free who?"

Another giggle. "Take the unworn road, find the valley, the tempest will light your way."

"Free _who_? And what road?"

With what he'd swear was a smirk, the air in her form dispersed and, in less than a breath, she was gone. The candlelight sputtered once more as a final rush of wind flew out the chimney, and then silence reigned. Heart pounding Roy stood, warily eyeing every shadow and corner as he returned to his chair. His mother still slept, they'd been forced to keep her sedated for some time, and he focused his attention on the cylinder. It was barely a foot in length, two inches in diameter, and the exterior was full of etched symbols that meant nothing to him. He felt around for a seam, looking for an opening or cap and, as soon as his fingers touched one end, the metal melted away.

When he tipped it to dump the contents on the bed, out fell a dagger wrapped in a silk scarf followed by a small key. The latter object appeared to be ordinary, save for its size, and the scarf was the blue of a deep ocean, with more odd symbols embroidered at either end. The knife, on the other hand, was made of untarnished silver, seemingly just burnished, with rubies set in the cross guard. He'd never seen a weapon like it. Roy contemplated his conversation with the sylph and, with another look at his mother, he collected the items back in the cylinder and raced from the room.

* * *

Just shy of two hours later Roy was in his chambers, dressing for travel and packing a few necessities while a small group of his men prepared mounts and provisions sufficient for a trek to the Northlands. He was conscious of the fact that he was leaving on what may be a foolhardy mission, the outcome of which was admittedly unpredictable. In fact it was plausible, likely even, that he'd brave the northern wilderness for weeks only to return empty-handed. However, for a year he had only been able to watch as his mother steadily declined and, even if the chances of success were slim, he would take any available opportunity to help her.

The quiet click of a door handle being engaged was his only warning, after which the Duke of the Westlands barged in unceremoniously. "I don't suppose I can talk you out of this. She'll have another good day...you should be here when she does."

"I hope to give her many more good days." Roy looked up from where he was lacing his boots. "We've exhausted every other avenue. I have to try."

"I thought you'd say that." His father crossed his arms and leaned against one of the bedposts. "If your mother can truly be saved, I'm hesitant to ignore this, nevertheless..."

"I don't agree," interjected Halden Bradley, the sorcerer of the royal court, as he came sweeping into the room. The King of the Realms of Amestris had sent him to be of aid four months prior, but he had been unable to heal Lady Mustang.

"And why not? Whoever this person is, if they can help, it's worth it."

"You haven't a clue what's going on," the man replied condescendingly. "A stranger uses some magical trickery, gives you a mysterious item, and you're ready to run off into the unknown. Are you even certain it was a sylph? There hasn't been a reported sighting in a hundred years."

"Positive. I _saw_ her."

"Which one? Surely you know there are, or were, four. Wind...water...fire...earth?"

" _Wind_." On the table Roy rolled flat the rubbing he'd made of the markings on the cylinder. "She kept telling me to 'free her,' but wasn't forthcoming with the details." He placed stones on the corners to keep the paper flat. "She didn't leave me with nothing...I believe this is a map."

"I think you're right," his father responded, resting his finger next to a cluster of symbols near the lower left-hand corner. "The Leímor Mountains, if I'm not mistaken."

"Then this would be the road to the old capital of the Northern Kingdom," Roy chimed in, tracing a gap in writing toward the center of the map.

"The Northern King's palace, to be exact...before the unification of the realms." Bradley scratched at some scab beneath the patch he wore over his left eye and leaned over the table. "And the symbols are based in sorcery...the language of magic, if you will."

"My grandfather often told me a story about that place when I was a boy. He said a woman was hidden away in the castle, trapped in a cursed sleep that no one knows how to break." Lord Mustang chuckled. "Everyone thought he was mad as a hatter...seems he may have been right."

"That was a _myth_ ," the sorcerer said skeptically. "Nothing more than a bedtime story."

Lord Mustang held up a hand to stave off the man's potential tirade. "Do try to be more helpful, Halden."

" _Very well_ , my lord. She has gone by various names over the years….The Sixth Princess, Sleeping Beauty, The Lost Sorceress. In my circles it's been said she's a powerful practitioner, and some claim that she's actually a sylph." Bradley shrugged. "No one knows anymore, but I can tell you that the palace has never been found."

"I'll find it," Roy confidently replied, rolling up the map and sliding it into the cylinder with the other items. "I have to." He picked up his bag and strode to the door, pausing with his fingers on the handle when his father spoke.

"Roy, be cautious. If beings like the sylphen are on the move again, there's no telling what you'll find."

"I will," he nodded, disappearing into the hall beyond.

* * *

Nearly three weeks later Roy sat by the fire, feeling exceptionally frustrated and earnestly considering tossing the map he'd stared at for hours into the flames. He'd been unable to understand how someone could misplace a castle, but it had now been six days since they reached the region in question, and he was at a loss for words. He would read the map and then gaze angrily at the place where the palace should be, wondering how it was possible _not_ to find it. He presumed there must be magic involved but, according to the soldier Jean Havoc, who could actually read the symbols thanks to his mother's studies when he was young, the map said nothing about the edifice's invisibility.

As it was, they sat in the middle of an unused road, surrounded by gnarled old trees and stone fragments broken by centuries of exposure to the elements. The nearest town was twenty-seven miles behind them and, the nearer they ventured toward the castle's supposed location, the more thickly grown the forest became. Few people lived so far northeast, not since severe earthquakes had shaken the region, and in their absence nature had taken over. They had scoured the land within a five mile radius of the non-existent stronghold, and had not found a single sign of human life.

Havoc dropped down to the ground next to him. "All clear, milord."

"Thank you." He accepted the canteen passed to him and took a drink. "Not that I expected anyone to be around."

The other man chuckled appreciatively. "It's been a bit eerie. I've never been quite so far from civilization."

"My father would say the experience is good for you." He tore a chunk from a loaf of bread. "Still, make sure we have regular patrols."

"Of course, milord."

"Start packing. We'll break camp in the morning and head back," he said, not wishing to admit defeat but unsure of any other steps that could be taken.

"I'm sure we could give it one more day at least." The soldier lowered his voice. "I know his lordship was hopeful as well."

"I was foolish to think a cure might literally fall into my lap."

"Very well, but may I suggest we move camp into the woods. To the west I saw a storm rolling in and..."

"A storm?" he interrupted, recalling the sylph's strange words: _the tempest will light your way_.

"Yes, and I..."

"No. We break camp now, have the men prepare to move."

"When?"

"I think we'll know."

They cleared the campsite, filled their packs, and then waited, dousing the fire shortly in advance of the storms arrival. The sky gradually darkened, making a comfortable summer afternoon look like late evening, and the wind began to whip around them, branches swaying erratically and lighter twigs sailing past their heads. Several gusts were even powerful enough that the group had to grab onto trees to steady themselves.

The rain came down in torrents, blowing in their faces and soaking them through, but still they waited. Roy tried to look everywhere at once, uncertain of what to watch for and at the same time terrified he might miss it. Cautiously, they trudged down the road in the direction of the location where the castle ought to be found. After a half-mile walk and nearly an hour total in the midst of the deluge, they came upon a road that had not existed on their previous searches. With trepidation he scrutinized it for a short time, almost expecting some otherworldly, fantastical beast to emerge from the shadows. Instead, he noticed the roadway was actively widening, the rain inexplicably causing the knotty trees, thorny bushes, and rope-like vines to recede, writhing away like creatures trying to escape.

Sharing a curious look with Havoc he strode forward, his horse's reins in one hand and sword in the other. They continued for miles, dodging holes and chips in the antiquated paving and vigilantly observing the forest on either side. Animals could be heard in the woods, but if any human had taken that road in the last century he'd have been acutely surprised. Only nature had touched that place for many years.

The rubble remnants of stone walls lined what had clearly once been an important thoroughfare, and its condition improved the further they walked. The walls seemed to regrow from pebbles, imperfections in the road itself eventually vanished altogether, flowering shrubs popped up at regular distances, and it was then he realized rain no longer fell around him. He turned to see the storm still raging behind them and, though it was still a dark mass in the sky, he could feel neither the wind nor the rain.

Roy paused to remove his coat and toss it over the saddle, hearing Havoc say at his side, "Your orders, milord?"

"We keep going, weapons at the ready. And leave two men here to watch the road."

"Yes, sir."

They were on the way again in minutes, but it was not until they'd traveled another mile that they finally saw it, white towers rising imperiously into the sky. The walls surrounding the castle were white stone as well, with a great black gate standing open and, the instant they strolled into the bailey, the air became frigid, his respirations condensing as soon as they escaped. He placed a hand on one of the stones comprising the empty guardhouse and discovered it was covered in a light sheen of frost, his skin coming away wet.

"Keep the horses out there," he ordered, sending his mount back through the gate and signaling for another pair of men to stay behind. Frozen grass crunched and crumpled under their boots as they crossed the vacant yard, the sound of their steps echoing off the castle walls. The impressive, iron-wrapped front doors were wide enough for twenty men to walk abreast and tall enough that a three story house could have easily sat beneath the archway. They opened effortlessly when he pulled the handle, no locking mechanism jammed from years of disuse and nary a creak of hinges. In fact, they were not locked at all.

The foyer they found themselves in was luxurious, reflecting the Northern Kingdom's vast wealth, and looking around he wondered why it was ever abandoned. Everything was a milky white marble: the floors, the walls, and even the pillars rising to absurd heights. To his left a staircase with an ornate balustrade wound upward, a hall branched off to the right, and directly across the entryway stood another set of heavy black doors. Intricate chandeliers dangled from the vaulted ceiling at varying heights, candles still waiting to be lit. Wrought iron torch brackets were mounted between thick tapestries depicting the heroic kings and beautiful damsels of ancient legends. Every surface glittered, and it only took a touch to verify that the palace's interior was frozen as well.

Through the black doors was a great hall the likes of which he'd never seen. Lined with Doric columns, it housed five stone-carved tables that stretched the length of the room, countless ornate maple chairs, and one massive fireplace. When the group separated to search he and Havoc took the stairs to the higher floors, which boasted a throne room with a single sword displayed on the wall, fourteen living suites, five parlors, six libraries, three billiards salons, and one room with a strangely life-like statue on a dais in the center. Otherwise, the scenery was largely the same, with more white marble, tapestries, indulgent rugs, and candelabras.

They found nothing else of note until they reached a suite on the palace's fourth floor. At first it appeared to be like all the other living areas, opening on a private parlor which led to a bedchamber, this one decorated with blue and silver hangings. Upon reaching the sleeping quarters, however, instead of a bed they found a glass casket resting on a large pedestal. Inside were the desiccated remains of a human, with waist-length hair and a silver-embroidered black robe. One hand rested on her stomach, fingers clutching a dried rose, and the other held one end of a necklace with a silver chain. Roy took an awed step forward for a better look and saw that the embroidery along the edges of the robe matched some of the symbols on the cylinder. "How can she be freed? She's _dead_." He stood there a minute longer watching the woman, his disappointment undeniable but, determined not to admit defeat until he was certain, he said, "Let's continue searching the castle, then we'll regroup here."

Once they had finished scouring the palace, including the various towers, the foursome reconvened in the dead woman's lodgings. Breda and Fuery brought in chairs from other rooms to avoid sitting on the icy floor, he started a blaze in the fireplace, and there Havoc carefully unrolled the symbol-laden map. While the other man read Roy examined the casket, running his fingertips over the seams and studying the tiny lock in the center of the lid. He pulled out the key, which he'd taken to wearing on a chain, and fit it into the mechanism. As he turned it the glass case dissolved, vanishing completely to leave the key swinging in midair. The woman smelled of lilies.

He took a step back, arms crossed over his chest, and said, "Anything you can tell me would be wonderful, Havoc."

The blond soldier exhaled loudly, coupling it with a chuckle as he paced toward the pedestal. "Now, this isn't always a precise science, milord, but I think..." He paused. "...I _think_ we have to stab the dagger into her chest. And then it either says to kiss her, or miss her. I believe we all know which makes more sense."

Roy spun on his heel. "You want me to kiss what is, essentially, a mummy?"

"Not me, milord, the map." The Havoc pointed at the paper in his hand to emphasize that the blame did _not_ rest with him.

He strolled closer, eyes following the unintelligible writing. "Are you sure you're reading this correctly?"

"In truth, no. But as far as I can tell, it says what I've told you." He lowered the parchment. "Any one of us could attempt to..."

"No," Roy interrupted. "I brought us here, it's my mother we hope to rescue, and I'll undertake whatever I must. Even if..." He tried to hide his slight cringe as his gaze drifted to the woman. "Very well."

Collecting the cylinder, he removed the dagger and stood beside the pedestal, hesitating only a moment before plunging the thin blade into the dehydrated space where her heart would be. Just then a glaring white light pulsed outward from the blade and he blinked rapidly in response to the temporary blindness. When his vision cleared he could only stand slack-jawed and stupefied because the weapon was gone and, where there had lain a mummified corpse only seconds earlier, there was now a flesh and blood woman. And she was breathtaking. Her hair was the color of rich honey, lips the deep red of ripened cherries, fair skin marred only by a curved scar on the back of her left hand.

"Impossible," Breda murmured behind him.

Tentatively, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, feeling an indescribable wave of energy course through the room when they touched, but it dissipated so promptly he doubted its existence. He paced backward to stand with the others and they all stared unwavering for several minutes, waiting for anything at all to happen. When those expectations were disappointed he turned and said, befuddled, "I expected more. Havoc?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, holding the map up in the light. "Reading it again."

The small group started to move collectively to the fire, the soldier's confused mutterings in the background, and then something eerily akin to an exhalation rose behind him. The hairs on his neck stood and Roy froze, spinning slowly to see the woman's chest rise, the chilled necklace falling to shatter on the floor. Her eyes fluttered open and then she sat up quickly, simultaneously turning to sit on the edge of the pedestal, a bare leg partially revealed in the process. She held her hands out to examine, touched the hem of her robe, and ran a thumb along the stem of the rose with a low, "This isn't right." She looked up at the four thunderstruck men, eyeing each of them suspiciously in turn. "What's happened? Where's Maes?"

Roy's gaze met her coffee-colored one and he cleared his throat, finally finding his voice as he offered a hand to help her down. "Apologies, my lady, I don't know of whom you speak."

She scrutinized them. "Is she _gone_?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Again, I'm afraid I don't..."

At that point the entire edifice shook for the span of a few seconds, and they all instinctively reached out to maintain balance. When the vibration stopped the woman's lips formed a thin line and she said, "You have no idea what you've done." She abruptly strode toward the door, waving a hand to her right, above which the shards of the necklace hovered and reformed. He followed her, wondering precisely who he'd woken, and was on the threshold of asking that very question when she again spoke. "Who told you how to find me?"

"One of the sylphen."

She glanced at him, quickening her pace to the staircase. "You're sure?"

" _Yes_...why must everyone ask that?" He thought he saw her smirk, but could not be certain. "Forgive me, but what seems to be the problem?"

"I'm not supposed to be _alive_." She descended the stairs briskly, and he noticed that, as they walked, candles and torches ignited around them. "And if I'm awake, then she is as well."

"Who?" There was no response to his query and he could only follow as she raced down the stairs and up to the grand double doors in the atrium. He instantly drew his sword upon seeing the guards he'd left beyond the walls lying dead just across the threshold. He was ready to stride right on through but the woman abruptly flung an arm across his chest to stop him and he threw up a signal to bring his men to a halt.

"I wouldn't," she quietly said, running her hand along the door frame and then placing it in the center of the opening, and he was astonished when she met resistance. With a light push an invisible barrier undulated like a sheet hung in the breeze, distorting their view of the outside world. "Dammit." She pounded a fist against the force field and turned away, playing with the silver chain of the necklace. " _Damn_."

"Now, now...that's no way for a lady of your station to speak. Your mother taught you better."

"Chris." The blonde spun back to face the tall, over-confidant woman that had appeared on the other side of the doorway. "You're looking rather peaked. Feeling alright?"

"No need to be rude, sorceress." The stranger gestured toward the bodies at her feet. "You know very well what I do when I find people are rude."

Roy took an angry step forward but the mysterious woman stopped him once more, saying, "Then why lock me in here? I, for one, would like to finish this."

"I have my reasons." Chris extended a hand and a dark-haired girl materialized, neck in her grasp. "It seems someone possessed your little friend. And after that idiot warlock of yours spoiled your attempt on my life. Have you not tired of weakness, sorceress?"

"What's your plan here, Chris? I've a feeling everyone is _dead_."

"Close, old friend, but not everyone."

The blonde indicated the doorway. "A barrier of this magnitude...you made a mistake. I'll find a way out."

"Of course you will, but I imagine you'll be in here long enough for me to take care of a few things." Chris' grip tightened around her victim's throat. "Let us see just how hardy your last sylph is, shall we?"

As lightening crackled in the sky above, the woman he'd woken reached out for his sword with an expression that brooked no argument. Taking it, she muttered a few undoubtedly ancient words, rammed it into the barrier, and shouted, "Bec!"

He could tell she was throwing all her strength into tearing the curtain and he gripped the weapon above the cross guard, pulling fiercely downward. Together they were only able to open a half-foot slit, but it was enough and, with a few more words uttered by the sorceress blue light jettisoned from the end of the blade, crawling along Chris' arm. Immediately, the sylph vanished into the air, a soft whistle the only sign she passed through the blockade until she again manifested as a human beside them.

When Roy tore the weapon free, the opening began to shrink to nothing, and the blonde gave the visitor a smirk. "You'd best get on with your diabolical plan. I'll be out _soon_."

Chris had no sooner disappeared in a swirl of skirts than the brunette dropped to her knees. "I apologize, your grace. I'd never have led them to you if I..." The sylph shook her head. "They caught me in my corporeal form. There was not..."

The blonde knelt with her, tilting the other woman's head up to meet her eyes. "Rebecca," she quietly interrupted. " _Why_ am I still here?"

The dark-haired girl's visage saddened. "It was Maes. He interfered and...and certain things didn't go to plan. The spell put you both into a deep sleep." She shook her head. "I don't know how the evil one got here so soon. Hughes hid her in the Southern Kingdom."

"I'm sure whoever organized this brought her here hoping we'd kill each other as soon as we woke." They stood, and she asked, "Where is he?"

"His old rooms, milady."

"Disperse, Bec. Look for weaknesses in the boundary."

As the sorceress stepped toward the stairs, Roy raised his sword to bar her path. "Forgive the appearance of aggression, but someone will explain to me this instant what's going on. I was told my mother could be healed, and she has little time left."

She eyed the weapon and then him, not bothering to raise her hands. "All the more reason to find a way out. To that end, I need your men to collect all the gold in the palace. Every necklace, ring, and gilt frame." The sorceress tried to pass but he did not budge and his men surrounded her as well, drawing their blades. "There's no need for this gentlemen. I'm not the threat." When he and his men remained stationary she flicked her wrist and their swords flew from their grasps, becoming embedded in the stone wall a second later. "If you'll excuse me."

Without another word the woman breezed by him, the sylph again dematerialized, and he was left with his men, staring idiotically at his empty hand. Yanking his sword from the wall in frustration, he started toward the staircase and said, "Do as the woman asked...gather the gold. I'll find out what the _hell_ is happening."

* * *

Riza left the men behind, traversing well-known halls and trying to organize the many thoughts that vied for her attention. She was foremost bemused, both by this turn of events and the absurdly quiet castle around her, devoid of all the usual sounds of human life. That, coupled with the unfamiliar coat of arms worn by the soldiers, forced her to question the circumstances surrounding her reawakening, and made her uneasily contemplate what she would find in her friend's apartments. Though, she had a hunch.

At the same time the young man's kiss lingered, her lips still tingling from the enchantment his touch had freed. In her distraction she grazed two fingers over her mouth, wondering at the continued sensation, which should have subsided. From his kind, albeit mournful, aura she knew his intentions were noble, and that he had no idea of the trouble he'd found. Despite all that she could not fend off the sliver of anger winding around her gut at the fact that, aware or not, in waking her he'd also freed Chris.

Her face fell when she strode into Hughes' old bedroom, pacing slowly closer to the statue that bore his exact likeness. Running fingertips over the marble to feel the cuneiform etched on its surface, her suspicions were confirmed: he was dead. The symbols themselves converted what would normally be an unexceptional statue into a _vanita_ , a simple enchantment that often served as a practitioner's way of leaving a final message in anticipation of his or her demise.

Riza placed a hand on his chest, fingers splayed, and the area surrounding it glowed gold as she activated the spell. Thin cracks formed in the stone, branching out from where she touched and spreading to cover his entire form like a myriad of delicate spider webs. She then stepped back to wait, and his voice soon filled the room.

"I know you're stunned, to say the least." He said it with a little chuckle, and a muted smile sprung onto her lips. "I also know you'll be angry with me, but I couldn't let you sacrifice yourself. Not when I knew the answer was out there somewhere, that we just needed the time to find it." He paused, and she could practically see him rubbing a hand over his jaw as he often did when thoughtful. The mental image caused the pressure behind her eyes to build. "You're no doubt chiding me right now. I know it was risk, and that it will all once again rest on your shoulders. For that I'm sorry but, in truth, there's not a damn thing you can do about it." She laughed at that, wiping away a tear hovering over her cheek. "Still, there _is_ good news. Because of you we've had a lifetime to learn, free from the constant threat of that hag, and we _found a way_. The sword is the key, you'll know what to do." There came another moment of hesitation, and then, "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," she whispered. The statue collapsed into many thousands of pieces but she continued to stare ahead until a handkerchief appeared in her peripheral vision, at which point she realized one of her unknown rescuers stood beside her. "Thank you." She took it and, rather than use it, closely examined the coat of arms embroidered in one corner. In the center was an elaborately stitched gold 'M,' flanked by a lion and a dragon, with laurel leaves stretching across the bottom. Inhaling apprehensively, she asked, "What year is it?"

He was handsome, with piercing eyes, and his brow drew together at the query. "1463."

"Ninety-seven years," she breathed in disbelief, scanning the remnants of her friend's _vanita_ while fighting to rein in her emotions.

"Might I inquire after your name?" When she looked over sharply, he added, "You seem surprised."

"I was most frequently addressed as 'sorceress' or 'your grace.' No one ever asked my name."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It seems people suffered from a frightful lack of manners ninety-seven years ago."

Her lips curved somewhat at his effort to break the proverbial ice. "Please forgive my own discourtesy. I should've introduced myself before." She inclined her head slightly in greeting. "Riza Hawkeye...I was once High Sorceress of the Kingdoms. However, something tells me that position no longer exists."

He took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Roy Mustang, Marquis of the Westlands, your grace."

"The Westlands?" She attempted to return his handkerchief but he waved it away, wordlessly telling her to keep it.

"You may know it as the Western Kingdom. Amestris was unified just over ninety-years ago."

"I see," came her slightly distracted reply, her mind already occupied with working out how that unification might have come to pass. However, the fragments on the floor soon brought her back to reality and, pushing such relatively pointless musings aside, she turned to face him. "And why did the Marquis of the Westlands come so far to wake me?"

"The sylph...the woman you called Rebecca, though I suppose she was possessed...she claimed that by freeing you I could rescue my mother. She's ill, and we've exhausted every option." Lord Mustang bent to pick up a few shards of the statue. "I wasn't sure how she could possibly be healed until I saw what you can do."

Her irritation twinged at the thought that, even after almost a century of sleep, once again she was sought merely for the service she could provide, but she attempted to remind herself that the man was only trying to save a loved one. "First we must deal with Chris...then I can see to your mother." She swept out of the room, taking the route back to her quarters, and the young man was soon at her side. "I assume you searched the castle. Did you find a sword?"

"We did." Mustang came to a stop in the middle of the hall.

She turned after a few steps upon realizing he was refusing to continue. "And?"

"And before anything else happens, I want answers."

Riza paced toward him until she stood mere inches away. "You've seen only a fraction of what I can do and you still wish to play this game? Perhaps I'm feeling a bit short-tempered and would rather kill you all and be done."

He shook his head, an all-too-wise grin breaking onto his features. "I doubt it. In my experience, someone who's willing to sacrifice herself to rid the world of a threat doesn't go around murdering strangers."

"Astute and not easily intimidated. Qualities I respect." The corners of her mouth inched upward once more. "You should add 'eavesdropper' to your title, my lord."

He laughed quietly. "I'll consider it."

"Fine, follow me." She started down the hall once more. "I need to change."

"Can you not just snap your fingers?"

Her expression was amused. "One does not waste sorcery on the mundane, Lord Mustang." Riza strolled into her rooms, loosening the tie on the robe she wore and opening her wardrobe, pleased to find there was still clothing inside. She selected a square-necked plum gown accented with lavender and silver, tossing it on the bed while shooting the gentleman a look that asked him to face the other way. "Chris was first sorceress of the Eastern Kingdom, until the day she began systematically murdering sovereigns, along with their heirs and closest advisers. She'd already thrown three nations into chaos before we fully understood what was going on, at which point the King of the North, my father, and I made plans to meet with the other ruling families."

"Strategically speaking that was an unwise decision, gathering the remaining leaders in one place."

"True," she agreed. "Which is why we didn't, we used said plans to lure Chris here. She'd stolen the power of a few sylphen to increase her strength, but I'd developed a risky enchantment that could take her powers permanently."

"And it would have taken your life, but this Maes altered it somehow." He paused in thought. "He was your husband?"

"No, no." Riza chuckled as she joined him in front of the fire fully dressed, tying off the laces at her side and pulling her hair over one shoulder to plait it. "Maes Hughes was a close friend, and one of the sorcerers that served the King of the North. He was very well-known...surely one of the practitioners that resides with your family has mentioned him."

"None live with us...they're all but extinct. The only one we know of is Bradley, the King's Sorcerer, and he's said that many of his kind were killed in a battle a hundred years ago." When her shoulders fell slightly he spoke again, "This cannot be easy for you, waking in a changed world."

"And I haven't even left home yet," she said with a wry grin, and then her tone turned serious. "When you say Bradley, do you mean _Halden_ Bradley?"

"Yes..." He observed her uncertainly.

"I have good news, Lord Mustang. We're leaving very soon...I've an idea what Chris is up to." When his gaze remained slightly perplexed she added, "What's that phrase...hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?"

He gave a slow nod. "He led her into your trap, then."

"Yes, _and_ he was her lover. I'd imagine she loathes the man." She paused, adding to herself, "He must have used some dark enchantment to stay alive this long."

He straightened tensely. "The man she hates is at my home, with my _family_. He was sent to try to heal my mother but was unsuccessful."

"Then it's time for us to escape." Riza stole a last look at her one-time home and strode out into the hall without another backward glance. "You have the sword?"

"Yes. It was the only weapon in the castle."

"Excellent." They reached the first floor shortly thereafter, where an ample pile of gold already awaited them, along with Mustang's men. "I recommend you prepare to leave. This won't take long."

"We're ready. We didn't bring much in with us, not having anticipated that an enchantress with a vendetta would lock us in."

"Very well." Eyes roving the cavernous room itself, she said, "Bec."

There was a rush of air to her left, followed by her friend's voice. "There are very few gaps, your grace. The first is one story above and several feet to the left of this door, another is right atop the east tower, and the third is outside the King's old chambers."

"Thank you." Riza stretched a hand out over the gold wares stacked on the floor, holding an image of the palace's layout in her mind, and watched the items break down until a golden cloud swirled in the air. It coruscated in the torchlight, shifting and eddying until she sent it toward the door, where it burrowed between the barrier and the castle walls. She walked forward and placed her hand close enough to the force field that she could feel the energy emanating from it. Satisfied that the precious metal had exploited the weaknesses in the spell, she looked on as the barricade dwindled away into nothing more than a gold-flecked dust that was carried away by a nonexistent breeze. They were free.

To be continued...

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the first half of the story, and have a great day!

Response(s) to guest review(s):

Yla: Thank you so much for your review, and for the lovely compliment on my writing. I'm thrilled to hear that this series of AUs has intrigued you, and I hope you liked this one so far. Have a good one :)


	3. The Lost Sorceress (Part 2)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Hello everyone! Here is the second half of The Lost Sorceress...I hope you enjoy it! :)

 **AN:** (5/12/18) Updated with some corrections - no changes to plot.

* * *

 **The Lost Sorceress** (Part 2)

The Northlands, 1463

The sun had set by the time they stopped to rest for the evening and, perched where the road crested a hill, Riza could just make out the silhouette of the palace. There was a soft silver glow where moonlight came into direct contact with the white walls, and the sight was somehow bright and melancholy at once. It would vanish soon, thanks to the spell that concealed it, but she knew the image would not be so easily banished from her mind.

Her father had been a trusted adviser to the Northern King and, as such, that castle served as the setting for many pleasant memories. She'd grown up there, learned to read and write in the King's library, and even made her first forays into sorcery in her mother's private sitting room. Now that she'd left, and seen first-hand the dolefully unrecognizable terrain in the surrounding area, she feared that the once welcoming place would become little more than a cenotaph for the life she lost. Save for one effervescent sylph, everyone she'd cared for was gone and, in truth, she'd never felt so isolated.

Leaning back against a tree, she took a bite of buttered bread and eyed the large tome to her left that idly flipped through its own pages. It was her _indivium_ , known to most in her time as a spell book, though it housed much more than simple enchantments or incantations. If she was going to face Chris yet again she wanted to be certain that she'd missed nothing, that any weapon she'd ever devised was at her fingertips.

Across the small campsite Becca teased the man called Havoc, it being one of the woman's favorite pastimes to toy with younger men. The soldier was searching for his case of tobacco in the brush along the road, and the sylph used a subtle breeze to keep it hidden. The other men merely laughed, preferring the entertainment to letting their friend in on the secret, though they frequently interrupted their mirth to hazard random guesses at the ladies' ages.

"Nineteen," Breda suddenly shouted, watching her with the narrowed eyes of a man who suspected he'd found his mark, his voice a bit louder than usual owing to the wine he'd been drinking.

"No, no, you're not even close." Fuery thought hard for a moment. " _Twenty-seven_."

"Wrong again, to both," Riza smiled.

"You and that book," Becca interjected with amusement in her voice, giving up her game to take a seat beside the blonde. "Flipping through it even when you know it inside and out."

"I was only looking for a little inspiration."

"Or a little familiarity."

"Perchance." She canted her head to one side and refreshed her tea. "The world feels...different. I'm not sure what I'll find out there."

"The imbalance Chris created by taking the sylphen was never corrected. That's likely part of what you feel."

"That must have been a side effect of Maes' addition to my spell." She sipped the tea. "What is it you want to say, Bec? I can tell there's something else."

"Riza..." The other woman exhaled. "Bradley not only killed the other practitioners, he was rounding up children that showed any signs of potential. I've done what I can to protect them, but without the other sylphen I was limited."

"Thank you for doing what you could." Riza took her hand. "I _will_ fix this."

It was quite strange to her that she went to sleep in a world where her kind were commonplace, if still feared and distanced from society, and woke up in a time when they hardly existed. If she were to be entirely honest with herself, it was also a point of anger, because it meant that Halden Bradley had taken advantage of her absence to rid the world of all sorcerers but himself. It also occurred to her that he may have initially used Chris to remove from his path the only practitioners more powerful than himself.

She glanced down the road to where Lord Mustang had stood for more than an hour and then waved a couple fingers over the book, the volume spinning and shrinking in a haze of blue light until it reformed into her silver-chained necklace. Draping it around her neck, she took one of the few cups they had, filled it with tea from the kettle by the fire, and strolled until she reached his side. "Tea?" she greeted, handing him the beverage. "You've been staring south for some time."

"Thank you." He sipped hesitantly to gauge the heat. "I suppose I'm a bit distracted….worried that by the time we arrive, it'll be too late. Is there anything you could do to slow her down?"

"Nothing that wouldn't slow our progress as well. But I _can_ help us move faster." Moving toward the horses, she took a few apples from a pack and held them in a hand, muttering, "Renovacritas." As she fed the first mount, she said, "Tell me about your mother."

"She started to fall ill last year...forgetfulness, outbursts, extreme fatigue. And then, it inexplicably worsened." He followed her to the next horse, rubbing the mare's neck. "She attacked me when I went to visit her, thought I was an intruder, and after that her violent tendencies only increased. As did the hallucinations..." He took another drink to mask his hesitation. "Can you help her?"

"Yes." Riza finished with a rather friendly gelding and they moved back to the center of the road. "Your mother suffers from an old hex sorcerers used to put on their enemies, and it's nearing its completion"

"And this illness' end result?"

"Death." She glanced at him in time to catch his slow, resigned nod. "My apologies...I could have been more sensitive. I'm afraid the only reassurance I can offer is that I believe we'll reach her in time. It's not too late."

"Thank you." He gazed once more to the south. "Bradley did this, didn't he? He made her sick, and manipulated me into waking you."

"That's my suspicion."

"At the risk of asking too personal a question..." He trailed away in thought, and she got the sense he was trying to change the subject, to keep from dwelling on his anger. "I'm just a stranger that woke you, introduced you to an essentially foreign world, where everything you knew is gone. And yet you've agreed to help me. Why?"

She sighed, scanning the cracked and broken southward road. "When I accepted my position I swore an oath to help people, and you need help." Still scanning the path they would soon be traveling, she commented, "This used to be such a lovely road, believe it or not. Paved and well-kept as far as the eye could see."

"It's been this way during my lifetime at least, but I'd like to have seen it the way you remember. My father and I used to come up this way when I was younger. This is where I learned how to survive in the wild." His head cocked to one side. "We had no idea you were hidden in an invisible castle, of course."

From the campsite, Breda shouted, "Twenty-three!... _Thirty_ -three?"

Mustang grinned. "Are you ever going to tell them how old you are?"

"It's much more fun for me this way." She smiled, on impulse telling him, "I'm twenty-nine, by the way. Not counting the ninety-seven years I slept, obviously."

"And how does one become High Sorceress at such a young age? I assume it's a lofty position."

"I'm quite..." Riza was unable to finish as something simultaneously wrapped around her wrists, legs, and neck, yanking forcefully until her back slammed into a tree trunk. Out of the corner of her eye she could see numerous wiry branches encircle her waist and weave over her chest, tightening around her neck. She could barely move, only able to gasp for shallow breaths, and after a whispered spell the organic wrappings began to smolder at her wrists.

Wresting his sword from its scabbard, Mustang sliced through the many boughs on either side and then tossed it aside in favor of a small dagger. With a warning utterance of 'Keep still,' he carefully worked the blade beneath the lignified limbs at her neck. When he broke through she coughed, inhaling sharply as she clung to him to keep herself upright, his hands gripping her arms supportively. Her head fell forward against his shoulder and she was altogether too focused on catching her breath to contemplate the potential impropriety of it.

"Are you alright?" she heard him ask.

With a sharp nod and a wave of her hand the vines on her person vanished and, jaw set in frustration, she followed the traces of the enchantment to a tree several meters from the road. Wily branches grasped for her extremities but they burned as soon as they touched her and, with another brusque wave, the spelled tree caught fire, multicolored sparks flying as flames rose into the air. She raised a protective hand to her neck while she watched, breathing deeply to counteract the vertigo she still felt. When Mustang came up on her right, she said, voice a tad rough, "We should leave. She may have set other traps, and we don't have time for me to search for them all."

Riza turned away but he stopped her, repeating more vehemently, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, though my dignity may be a bit bruised." She shook her head. "I should have sensed it, but I was distrait."

"In that case, I'm rather proud to have been the cause of your inattention."

"I don't recall saying _that_ , exactly," she replied.

He chuckled, following her back out to the road where the rest of the startled group had gathered upon noticing the disturbance. "Riza?" the sylph asked.

"Chris left a little gift behind for us, that's all."

"We need to move," Mustang said, waving his sword at the campsite. "Pack it up."

While the other soldiers worked she helped Roy ready the horses, throwing blankets over their backs as he checked their hooves. He grabbed the saddle for his own gelding and she stood across from him, gently pulling at the blanket to remove any bothersome wrinkles. She caught his eye over the animal's back and he turned toward the next horse with a grin, meanwhile she tightened the tack, thinking it was really a terrible idea for her to find him attractive. They made quick work of the preparations, and soon he was rising into the saddle, freeing a stirrup for her to use and taking her hand to help pull her up behind him. Riza wrapped an arm around his waist and, as they led the way down the road, she could smell the hint of evergreen on his clothes.

* * *

A few nights later, Roy lay on the stiff ground staring up at a clear sky. The rest of the group had managed to fall asleep almost immediately, but he'd tossed and turned for more than an hour to no avail. They had been traveling at a nice clip but, given his impatience to return home, the road ahead naturally seemed to stretch on without end, time slowing to a crawl. Fortunately, the mysterious Chris had not left them any further surprises that might impede their progress, and that fact alone made him wonder about her intentions. That she was not worried enough to try to stop them meant that she might enjoy some advantage of which he was unaware, and that possibility did not thrill him. His only encouragement was that Riza did not seem overly concerned, though she had taken to keeping watch herself every night.

From the soft, orange-red light dancing across the trees along the road he knew she was still awake and, deciding the warmth of a fire could lull him to sleep, he rose to his feet and trudged in that direction. Her gaze was unfocused and faraway when he sat across from her, _invidium_ laid open on the ground at her side, it's pages slowly turning. He took the liberty of pouring himself tea, which was brewed strong and spiced delicately with orange peel, the mug warming his chilled fingers while he watched the sparks flitting out of the fire. In the short time they'd spent together he had not once seen her so lost in thought, and he wondered what had preoccupied her. She abruptly turned to read one of the _invidium_ 's pages, but sat pensively back after only a pair of seconds, furrowing one corner of her mouth in disappointment. It was then she looked up, lips curving when she noticed him, and he asked, "Find something you didn't care for?"

"It's more what I didn't find."

"I've had a thought," Becca suddenly began, emerging behind the blonde and joining her by the fire. "We could reopen the academy, find new pupils. I know of an abandoned palace in excellent condition that would made a wonderful school."

"We?" The sorceress smirked, hovering a hand over above the thick volume, at which point it slammed shut and morphed back into its jeweled form.

"Well, you _mostly_...but I know a few things, young lady." The sylph gestured toward him across the flames. "Let's perform one of the tests, perhaps Lord Mustang could be your first student."

He shook his head. "I doubt I'd be a good choice...I believe I lack the talent."

"We already know he has the potential." Riza spoke softly and, as surprise overwhelmed his expression, added, "You woke me, did you not?"

"Yes." He felt his cheeks warm, recalling _how_ her sleep had been broken, but chose to blame it on the fire. "And what does that mean?"

"Enchantments are finicky things. They can only be ended by the sorcerer that created them, or a blood relation also capable of practicing." When he continued to watch her doubtfully, she said, "I could show you, if you like."

"I'll leave you." The sylph stood, giving the other woman an odd sort of look, and then glanced upward to the sky. "This form is becoming rather taxing."

"Until the morning then, Bec." As the sprite dispersed in a rush of air, the blonde returned her attention to him. "Well, Lord Mustang?"

"I'll try your test," he responded, moving to a seat facing her when she waved him over.

"May I?" When he gave her a nod she took his hands and let them rest atop hers, their palms together, his fingertips grazing her skin. Without warning he felt an energy between them, like a cross between a faint vibration and a mild static shock, and his hands rose approximately an inch above hers. "You feel that, yes?"

His eyebrows rose in amazement. "I do."

"Good." She repositioned their hands so that his now cradled hers. "Try to replicate what I just did."

"Going to read my palm as well?"

"Not this time," she replied, lips quirking. "Pick something and analyze it in minute detail. It can be anything." He nodded, trying to call forth a mental picture of his favorite book, which he happened to leave lying on his bedside table back home. It was bound in black leather, the title imprinted in silver lettering on the spine, and the edges were worn from frequent use. More silver had been worked into the cover with a deft touch and, as he tried to concentrate on every swirl of filigree, he ended up following the regal line of her cheekbone instead, or the curve of her lip. She tilted her head a fraction, possibly noticing the direction in which his focus had moved, and he saw the way shadows played over her face. Her eyes took on a copper hue in the firelight and he was barely cognizant of the hairs on the back of his neck rising when she smiled. "Well done, Lord Mustang."

He then became aware of the energy once more between their palms and, with a glance downward, he breathed, "Incredible."

"You should have felt something, what was it? For some it's an emotion...an inexplicable surge of joy or sadness, for example...and for others it's a physical sensation, like warmth without fire, or vertigo without falling."

"It was that feeling one has when being watched...you know, your hair stands on end. I believe I felt it when I kissed you, but I didn't realize it at the time." He liked to think he saw her flush, but could not be sure. "What was yours?"

"Cold. When I was young I accidentally froze the library before my parents realized what was going on."

"You were discovered because you froze a _room_?"

She laughed by way of affirmation. "All the books were frosted over. My father was _very_ displeased."

"That explains the state of the castle when we found you."

"Power sometimes has a mind of its own."

They chatted well into the night, until their shared fatigue finally asserted itself, at which point they both laid back to rest. The last thing he remembered was her lying on her side several feet away before rolling onto her back to look up at the sky. Then, unexpectedly, after what only felt like half a minute, he was waking into darkness, the flames down to embers. He wiped a hand over his face, as if to push the drowse away, eyes narrowing when he realized it was a body that had snuffed out the fire. He promptly came to his feet with a hand on his knife, crouching next to the black form in the center of the campsite that turned out to look a great deal like Halden Bradley. Scanning closer to the trees he saw that the others still slept deeply, and a glance to his left told him Riza was gone.

Cautiously, he strolled toward the horses, the forest eerily still, with not even the weakest of breezes playing with the leaves. Further down the dirt road he could see a lone figure approaching, but intermingled shadows made certainty difficult. He squinted as if it would help him peer into the darkness, thick clouds having scuttled across the moon while he slept. Just as abruptly as he woke, a breeze began to pull at him from all directions and, kneeling momentarily, he extricated the palace sword from the collection of supplies.

Around him the wind's intensity only increased, and above the dark clouds began to twist and writhe angrily, blocking out the few vestiges of light. Ahead, something like black lightning flowed around the newcomer's hands, only visible due to the flashes of deep purple flickering in the night. A large bolt flew toward him and he drew the sword, holding it before him and bracing himself for impact, and inevitable death. Closer it raced and, just as his body tensed in anticipation, it collided with nothing, purple and black streaks spraying outward as an invisible barrier rippled from the strike.

Several more bolts struck the shield, just as ineffectually, and a woman he ultimately recognized as Chris strode closer, pressing a hand to it much like Riza had done in the castle earlier. "She's protecting you...how sweet." A momentary silence, and then, "It extends for miles in either direction. Clever, as always."

When the enchantress gazed upward to examine its height, Roy could discern a hole growing in a portion of the transparent wall, and then a jet of brilliant, blue-white light shot through it, throwing the woman backward with such force that she fell to the ground and rolled several meters. To his right Riza appeared, throwing off her cloak, and he said, "Let me help you."

"You will, but not yet. You'll know when." She ran a couple fingers along the blade as he lowered it. "This must go through her heart."

"Then it will." They both watched the recovering woman warily. "Do you mean to sacrifice yourself again?"

"If I must." Turning toward him, she used his chin to gently angle his face toward her and placed a soft kiss on his cheek that startled him considerably. "Thank you for waking me, Lord Mustang. It's been lovely."

Electricity danced along her fingers and she'd stepped through the shield before he could suitably react, or ask her to kindly call him Roy. A bit warmer than before, he was soon forced to focus on the present, saving his balance as the wind nearly shoved him into the barrier. He felt utterly useless, only able to watch as purple-black met blue-white, sending sparks in all directions.

"I take it you didn't care for my little present," Chris said, pulling together the raindrops swirling above her head and whipping innumerable icy daggers at the blonde.

"It was certainly thoughtful." As soon as they were within a foot of Riza, the frozen blades burst into nothing more than snowflakes with an unconcerned wave. "If a bit tasteless." The ground fissured, tiny web-like cracks opening in a way that was reminiscent of Hughes' statue, and out flowed lava in a thousand tiny rivers that wound toward Chris. The enchantress tried to close or divert them, but could not reach them all, and was soon consumed, screaming, by molten rock which instantly solidified. There was a short respite, in which Roy thought that it could not be over so quickly, and then the rock exploded outward.

The woman leered. "You're no match for me...not then, and not now."

"Is that so?"

Lightning flashed ominously amidst the swirling clouds. "I have your friend."

He knew Riza's face fell, even if her back was to him, because her silence was followed by a retaliatory bolt of electricity from her hands. The conversation was over and, truthfully, from that moment on, the altercation progressed so rapidly it was awe-inspiring. The lightning blows from each woman were consecutive and unending, icy blue meeting purple-streaked black over and over, each time with a crack louder than any thunderclap he'd ever heard. His hand wrung the leather-wrapped grip of the sword, only wondering for an instanthow the others could possibly still be sleeping.

Coupled with those energetic attacks, his very surroundings burst into a flurry of others. Actual lightning shot to the ground from the tumultuous sky, but Riza merely flicked it away to crash uselessly against the barrier while a fog of dust rose from the ground. It swirled and thickened, forming a cyclone of dirt and pebbles that drove directly toward her enemy's mouth in an attempt to suffocate her. Electricity crackled and clashed yet again as Chris was forced to dodge, vines then flying from the trees even while black fire erupted around the blonde, licking at her legs and arms. If she was in pain, it was impossible to tell, and she simply rose into the air, blue flame tracking along the many creeping plants that reached for her.

Her breaths came fast, the only sign the effort wore on her, and this time when lightning struck from the clouds, it was aimed at the other woman. It wrapped around her wrists like chains, shining and deadly and, as the ground beneath his feet shook, he heard the blonde's voice whispered on the wind. "Soon." He paced back and forth along the barrier, absentmindedly crashing into it when Chris' shackles gave way and Riza was thrown back onto the shield with ferocity. It bowed as it caught her, and she slid to the ground, lying there in exhaustion until the other raised a hand to lift and suspend her in midair. "I tried to tell them it was a mistake naming you High Sorceress, but the council refused to listen." A sword materialized in the enchantress' free hand, emeralds glittering in the cross-guard. "That title had always gone to one of royal blood...until _you_." She paced closer, brandishing the weapon with a smirk when the blonde remained silent, hanging limp in the air. "It's nothing personal, my dear girl. I'm simply claiming the position for which I'm better qualified. You understand."

As she spoke the quaking ground that Roy had still been able to feel like a quiet murmur started to shake once more in earnest. And then Riza was on her feet again, her left palm on the other sorceress' forehead while she tossed the sword away with a twitch of her finger. Her eyes were closed and her lips moved but he could not make out what she said. The wind again grew into a frenzy and Chris attempted to free herself, but out of fresh fissures in the ground crawled a substance that was both translucent and colorfully shimmering wherever light found it, like diamond turned liquid. It bound the woman's arms, legs, and torso, and Riza hardly seemed to notice, her palm still glued to the other's forehead.

Around him the wind somehow strengthened, flame burst from those same cracks in the road, the rumbling of the earth intensified, and rain came down in abrupt torrents, as though each of the Sylphen wished to make known her displeasure at having been taken captive. The environmental bouts of anger continued and Chris screamed forcefully, not spuriously as before. Just then four hazy forms broke free, first gray, then red, then green and blue, rising from the witch as would puffs of steam from boiling water.

Riza teetered on her feet before falling to her knees, and Roy rushed forward, recognizing only a moment later that the barrier had dropped and Chris' diamond bonds had vanished. He was still sprinting when the ill-meaning enchantress grabbed for the sword she'd conjured earlier and lunged for the blonde. His opponent raised a hand in his direction, but the force he expected to knock him backward never came. Instead, he arrived just in time to cross blades with her, blocking her weapon so it glided above Riza's head and stabbed the ground a few inches from her nose.

The woman stumbled backward, waving her hands around in increasingly agitated motions. "No...no...NO."

He followed and, with a powerful swing of his sword, knocked the weapon out of her hand and sent it spinning away. Behind the practitioner Becca appeared, followed by a slim sylph with auburn hair, a forest green gown, and tendrils encircling her arms like the jewels of a queen. Third came a slightly taller woman with bright blue eyes and a vestment that was somehow flowing water, and the fourth had long, black hair plaited with a fiery red, a fog of smoke floating around the hem of her skirts. "This seems fairly personal, after all, Chris."

Her chance at escape ended by the sylphen, and her powers having disappeared, Chris spun back toward him and he ran her through. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a gasp left her as she perished, breaking into shards of midnight glass that skittered away across the dirt road into the cracks that were gradually closing. He looked up to see the women had gone, but when he turned to help Riza they were already there, kneeling around her respectfully, hands held over her body. His paces slowed as he neared, and he was on the cusp of asking whether or not she still lived when the quartet began to speak softly, rhythmically.

His head turned sharply to the right at the crunch of steps and he saw a bewildered Havoc hurrying in his direction, Fuery and a groggy Breda close behind. Sheathing the sword he still held to demonstrate that the danger had passed, he chuckled when the blond soldier asked, staring at the women in puzzlement, "With all due respect, milord, what in all hell did we miss?"

"Quite a lot, if I'm honest." The sylphen's hands began to glow in a combination of gray, blue, black and red. "That Chris woman is gone, most importantly."

"And we _slept_ through it?" Breda inquired dubiously.

"I've a hunch that was Lady Riza's doing." Just then the sorceress in question opened her eyes, and he passed the scabbard and sword to Havoc, swiftly striding the few feet to help her up.

She rose more than a little laboriously and gave him a wan, weary smile, clutching his hand more emphatically than she otherwise might. "Thank you." With a slow turn she faced the sylphen who bowed to her, a gesture which she returned before they all embraced. "You had to _force_ me awake."

"Yes...well..." the red-headed earth sylph began, her demeanor shy. "Your friend seemed concerned. We thought he'd like to see you were alive."

"And _I_ prefer not to carry you back to camp, if you don't mind," another voice added.

"Thank you, Bec." There was the hint of a laugh in her voice and, raising her eyes to the once more starry sky, she returned her gaze to the four women. "Enjoy your freedom, ladies. We'll see each other again soon."

Looks were shared, and then each sylph departed, one in a cloud of smoke, another in a wisp of vapor that swirled toward the nearest stream, and the third in a flurry of scarlet finches until, lastly, Becca floated away on a breeze. Placing the blonde's hand in the crook of his arm, Roy directed them to the camp at an easy pace. "Havoc...a fire. Breda...get the lady something to eat. Fuery...track down the horses. I think one may have gotten loose." The men responded with nods and, once they were gone, he asked, "Will you be alright?"

"With just a little rest, yes." Her voice now fully imparted her exhaustion.

"I'd like to say that was a bit reckless, but I'm not sure we know each other well enough."

Her head tilted marginally to the left as she considered that opinion. "Yes, undeniably reckless, but no less essential, some would say." She was silent for a brief distance. "Thank you for your assistance, Lord Mustang. If not for you she'd still be here, and I likely wouldn't."

"Call me Roy, please. And, anyway, you rendered her wholly powerless. My contribution was minimal."

"Only temporarily. I wouldn't have regained my strength in time to finish her."

He was thoughtful, remembering something she'd said earlier. "You mentioned they forced you to wake."

"Force may have been a touch severe. It'd be more accurate to say they pulled me back to consciousness significantly sooner than was natural. I'm seeing double at present, to be entirely truthful."

He shot her a sideways glance. "At the risk of appearing inappropriate...I could carry you."

"No, thank you." She patted his arm in a gesture of appreciation. "The stroll is helping."

Though her words were meant as reassurance, he could feel her leaning more heavily on his arm as they progressed, but chose not to comment. Instead he remained silent, letting the chirp of crickets accompany their walk. It was strange to think of all they'd encountered in a matter of days, and he wondered what would become of the fascinating woman at his side. He was clueless as to her intentions, and could not fathom the task of rebuilding one's life in a place that time had made unfamiliar. The life she must have led as High Sorceress he could only imagine, and it occurred to him that the King might even offer her the position Bradley had clearly vacated. However, he had a feeling she'd refuse and, formidable as she was, even the King could brook no argument. The weight of her hand on his arm brought forth the thought that, after all this, it would be quite unpleasant to never see her again.

When they reached the fire he helped lower her to the ground before taking a look around to verify they'd lost nothing to the intense winds. Upon his return, a kettle was boiling, Breda was cleaning a rabbit that would then be roasted on a spit, and Riza had already fallen asleep. He lightly threw a blanket over her legs and accepted a mug of tea from Havoc with a nod. They kept their short conversation quiet that night, though he doubted she'd have woken anyway.

* * *

After two weeks of swift and grueling travel, during which Rebecca and the other sylphen visited a time or two, they finally arrived at the Mustang family's manor in the Westlands. It was a truly gorgeous estate, with hundreds of acres sprawling around an elegant mansion built almost three hundred years prior. It was constructed of a light-colored brick that the years had weathered to soft shades of gray and cream. Four regal pilasters protruded from the front wall, framing the main entrance, as if to inform any guest that this was a place of power and wealth, and rows of windows glittered across the facade, stretching the full length of the building.

They cantered along the winding drive, which was lined by a variety of trees: elm, oak, maple, and birch, among others. Being much further south than the palace that had been her resting place, and not yet set upon by the winter wind, the grounds were green and lush, hills rolling off into the distance. As they clattered by a pond geese rose from its surface, flying away in droves after their serenity had been so harshly interrupted.

They stopped several yards before the entrance and Riza removed her arm from Roy's waist to dismount, adjusting her dress. Before long he was busy giving orders to his men, as well as the servants that came out to meet them, and she strode up to a balustrade not far away, finding that the spot looked out over well-tended gardens. Hearing him stop beside her, she said, "I remember this place. It looks a bit different, but it's familiar."

"Each man that inherits it must leave his own mark," he mused. "You've visited?"

"When Maes' sister was Duchess of the Western Kingdom, and lady of this house." Riza fought to recall for a moment. "Merthyn Hall?"

"That's right...well-remembered."

"Thank you, but I'm afraid it's not all that impressive. It was only a year ago for me that I was last here."

He offered her an arm. "Shall we?"

"Yes, yes, of course." She let him lead her to the stairs. "Forgive my distraction...You're worried about your mother and here I am staring at roses."

"It's quite alright."

"You're very kind," she replied as they passed through the main doors.

"My lord," an impeccably dressed butler greeted with a bow.

"How is she?" Roy quickly asked, concern betrayed in his tone.

"Her Ladyship has been sleeping the past several days, my lord...hardly woken up to eat. His Lordship is out at the northern pasture and should be back soon." He eyed their dusty clothes with disapproval. "I'll have baths prepared and tea sent up."

"Thank you..." His response was quiet as he led them rapidly up the stairs, and she'd felt him tense at the senior steward's admission of his mother's condition. At the landing they turned left down a carpeted hall decorated with framed paintings and silver candelabras. As they walked she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, but doubted he took note of it, for soon he knocked on a door and pushed it open, revealing a luxuriously appointed suite with silk bed hangings and crushed velvet drapes. He rushed to the bedside and gripped the hand of the woman lying there, startling the wits out of a maid that had been washing the patient's face with a damp cloth. "Mother….it's Roy…Mother…. _Lenora_ …." Each word was more strained than the last.

Though Lenora was a beautiful woman, illness had made her pallor ashen and her eyes sunken. Strands of black hair were plastered to her temples from fever, and she had the look of someone who'd had a weak appetite for some time: not quite emaciated but obviously malnourished. Riza draped her cloak over the arm of a chair, filled a porcelain cup with tea and, at the same instant, Roy jerked to his feet to pace with an anxious hand covering a frown. Striding toward the bed and, without really thinking, she placed a hand on his chest. "She'll be fine, Roy." She started when he took her hand, after which she met his gaze with a little smile, letting her fingers slide slowly out of his.

Behind them the door started to open and Roy excused himself with a tiny bow of the head, and a distinct male voice said, "I came the second I heard you'd returned."

Tuning them out until their conversation became only a dull murmur, she put a hand over the woman's heart and shut her eyes. She could feel the illness moving furtively around her body, the way a fish darts around in sharp bursts beneath the surface of a lake. Now certain of the nature of the malady, she held a hand over the teacup, uttering a few enchantments: one to counteract the hex, a second to prevent her condition worsening, another to wipe away some of the damage, and a fourth to warm the beverage.

The new voice behind her grew louder when it said, "You mean you _found_ …?" but Roy could be heard urging him to be silent.

Both her hand and the cup warmed, the space between them shimmering like the air on a supremely hot summer day. When she felt it was ready, she touched a fingertip immediately above the bridge of the woman's nose and Lenora's eyes slid open, lazily taking in the room as though she were not sure of her own location. The patient's breathing quickened, but before any outburst could result from a possible hallucination, Riza gently squeezed her wrist and said, "Don't be frightened, you're safe. Drink this."

Roy's mother calmed instantaneously and took the tea, sipping it politely, as would any Duchess. Finally, a glint seemed to return to her eye, and she asked, "Richard, dear, who is this? _Why_ is this room so stuffy? You know I like to have the windows opened in the morning. And...Roy...what a sight you are. Why on _earth_ are you so dirty?"

There were delighted exclamations from the men and Riza moved away as they crowded the woman's side in their relief. It was a heartwarming scene, as the Duke kissed his wife like he thought he'd never see her again and Roy hugged his mother as if she'd just come back to life. Deciding the family deserved some privacy, she left the room and, upon running into the pleasant butler in the corridor, was led to a quiet parlor in the northeastern corner of the manse. The man left, promising to have a small lunch tray sent up, and she strode instantly to the pianoforte before the windows. She took a place on the bench, delicate fingers alighting on a few keys, but her solitude was short-lived, and she smirked at the whisper of air to her right. "What are you doing here? Is there no celebration in which you ought to be partaking? No wood nymphs with which to frolic?"

"Wood nymphs." Becca gave a soft snort. "Cheeky little things, they were." The brunette played a few notes, a whorl of air coaxing the nearest window open: the wind sylph hated enclosed spaces. "I was awake and alone for ninety years...I dare say I missed you, Sorceress."

"Do be careful, _s_ _ylph_. You seem almost human."

"No getting carried away, now. You just got back." She tapped out another tune, one lilting and cheerful, and this time the blonde joined in. "What will you do?"

"I don't know."

"The great Riza Hawkeye without a plan. My, my..."

"I did recently wake from a lengthy and unexpected nap, if you recall. Might I have a little time to regain my bearings?"

The other woman gave an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, I su…." She stopped mid-sentence, a smirk growing to dominate her expression. "Unless I'm mistaken, there's a handsome young man headed this way."

"With any luck it's one of the stewards with lunch...I'm famished."

"You _know_ who I mean."

"Now Rebecca..." Riza left off when the other woman was abruptly gone, crossing to the window where the sylph had summarily evanescenced. The quick knock on the door caused her to turn and it swung inward to reveal Roy, closely followed by a young woman with a tray, the contents of which smelled divine. The maid gave a curtsy before leaving and, the very moment they were alone, the window at her back shut with an unnecessarily loud snap. When he eyed it inquisitively, she explained, "Becca has a peculiar aversion to using doorways."

"I'll keep that in mind," he chuckled, pulling a chair out for her at the table. "I fear I've been a terrible host."

"Not at all. Even if you had, you have good reason." She poured a cup of tea, eyeing the food with a grumbling stomach. "Please don't trouble yourself over me. I imagine you'd much rather be with your mother after all this time."

"She's currently bathing, and I neither need nor want to be present for that." He rested a hand on the back of the chair next to hers. "Thus...if you don't mind..."

"Please." Riza pushed the first cup toward him and filled another for herself, sliding the tray closer to him to indicate she was willing to share. "Your mother's feeling better?"

"I haven't seen her so energetic, or quite this sane, in months." He shook his head, raising the tea to his lips. "It's amazing."

"It will still take time for her to recover fully. I'd recommend keeping her on a liquid diet for another fortnight. And only short walks for the time being...the hex is gone, but it wreaked havoc on her body." She paused to drink, suddenly feeling like she was babbling.

"Thank you." Roy's fingers brushed hers, seemingly incidentally. "You disappeared...I didn't get the chance to say that before."

"I didn't want to impose."

"You're far from an imposition." He caught her eye, taking a forkful of veal crustade from the plate. "How were you so confident before that my mother had time?"

"A similar hex was placed on my own mother once...these things work slowly." She sipped tea to distract from the sadness of the next realization. "And now I've no idea what happened to her, or my father...or anyone, really." The laugh that left her was more derisive than anything else. "I confess, I haven't decided what precisely to do with myself. I'm not sure where I belong here. I _could_ travel...wherever I like now, and not simply to attend stuffy meetings."

Riza had become so lost in her own thoughts that his voice practically startled her. "Records of your parents, and your friend Hughes, may be in the Capital...or the capital city of the Northlands."

"An excellent point." She set her serviette aside, thinking it might be best to be on her way, to dive headlong into the unknown. She certainly did not wish to be a burden, would not want the Mustang family to feel obligated to her in any way. "I could be out of your hair very quickly...if I could just borrow a horse I can pay any..."

"Wait. I didn't mean to imply that we...that _I_ wanted you to leave. Remember when I said you _aren't_ an imposition?"

"Thank you for all you've done, but I've really put you through enough." She stood, all of a sudden feeling nervous, but unable to determine if that stemmed from the aforementioned 'unknown,' or something else. "With Becca's help I can…."

"Would you like to stay for dinner tonight?" he interrupted, standing and pushing his chair back in one rapid motion. "And perhaps for the next month or so?"

Her mouth, which hung open in response to the unanticipated invitation, started to curve into a smile. "I'd love to." A pleased grin appeared on his face and she took the chair he again held out for her, tearing a biscuit apart and handing him half. They spent the next hour making plans for a trip to search for records concerning her family, during which he agreed to escort her, and discussing his potential studies in sorcery. The arrival of his parents prompted introductions, followed by a walk in the garden which, for the younger pair, ended up lasting until early afternoon. From a bench overlooking a lovely grove of rose bushes, with the young man beside her enthusiastically describing all the attractions of West City, her circumstances no longer seemed so discouraging.

Fin

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked the story, and have a great day!


	4. The Doctor and the Gunsmith (Part 1)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Hello all! This is a short story that I'd been contemplating for quite a while, and it took some time to decide how I wanted to go about this, but I finally started working on it a few months ago. It's set in the early 1940s, and I've been listening to swing, jazz, and big band tunes for weeks to keep in the right frame of mind while finishing it. I don't have any sort of soundtrack in mind, but feel free to break out your Benny Goodman, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, and Glenn Miller if you're... _In The Mood_. Sorry, I couldn't resist. (I'm such a nerd.) Anyway, I've borrowed the FMA universe for some place/country names, but there's no alchemy or magic in this one. I've tried to be as accurate as possible, but allow me to apologize ahead of time for any errors related to the medical field, military, or time-period in general.

And I kid you not, this is how my husband's grandparents met. (Well, the very basic premise at least. I took quite a few creative liberties, as usual.)

All that said, this is the first half of the story, and I should have the second portion up in a couple days. I hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

 **The Doctor and the Gunsmith** (Part 1)

May 26, 1943 – Leighton, Amestris (Fifteen Miles Outside East City)

Riza Hawkeye slipped through the wooden gate as quietly as she could, holding it just right to keep the antiquated hinges from squealing. The backyard was dark save for the dim bulb glowing by the door, more helpful for attracting insects than actually illuminating the ground at her feet, and the black silhouette of a gigantic weeping willow loomed fifty feet away. A cricket sang in the bushes to her right, pausing when she came near and chirping with renewed energy after she passed.

In the field beyond the once-white picket fence the season's earliest fireflies blinked, and she watched them with a little smile as she sat on the concrete stoop to remove her heavy work boots. She let out an involuntary sigh when she did, her over-worked feet crackling slightly when she set them on the paving stones, which were somehow still warm from the sunny day. Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees she closed her eyes, enjoying for the moment the absence of machinery and gunfire in the background.

Her smile turned wry when that silence was broken just seconds later by the soft whine of the back door being pushed open, and she looked behind, her voice taking on a mildly admonishing tone. "Roselyn Marie Havoc...why aren't you in bed?"

The young girl chewed her lip guiltily, one hand still on the door while the other clutched a stuffed elephant named Theo. "I can't sleep when you and Mama are gone."

Riza held out an arm so her niece could crawl onto her lap and kissed the top of her head. Hair stuck out of the girl's black braid and she gently shook it loose, asking, "What's wrong, bug? Didn't Sheska tuck you in?"

"She doesn't _do_ it right. Why can't Mama stay home with me?"

"You know your Mama and I have to work. We'd be here with you all the time if we could, baby girl, but we can't." Riza kissed the top of her hair again. "Sheska offered to help us out around the house. It was very nice of her and, if you ask me, she's the lucky one cause she gets to spend the whole day with _you_."

"I want Daddy to come home...he reads me the princess story. I like that one."

"I'm sure your Daddy will come home as soon as he can." She hugged her niece tightly. "In the meantime, can you give her another chance? For me?" Rosie nodded begrudgingly, cuddling the elephant. "That's my girl. She's trying her best...we're all trying our best. And I bet she'd read you the princess story if you ask."

"Okay." There was a pause, and then, "Can we do a nighttime snack?"

Riza could hear the grin in the girl's voice. "A _small_ one."

Roselyn hopped off her lap and picked up her boots, lugging them awkwardly into the enclosed back porch when the blonde opened the door. From there they moved into the kitchen and the girl sat at the heavy wooden table while she moved about making peanut butter toast with a drizzle of honey. They shared a slice with a mug of chamomile tea, keeping quiet since Sheska had dozed on the couch in the next room. Rosie told her all about her day, everything from her lessons to feeding the chickens and making breakfast for Uncle Walter when he came to tend their small garden. Finally her niece yawned, eyes beginning to droop, and Riza carried her up creaky stairs to her bedroom.

The little brunette was asleep as soon as the blankets were pulled up to her shoulders, her elephant still squeezed in one arm. She did not even wake when another car door shut outside, the vehicle itself trundling back down the long drive to the road. Riza stole quietly down the stairs, running into a groggy Sheska on the landing, who said with a pat on her arm, "Dinner's in the icebox."

"Thank you. You're a life saver, you know that?"

"Believe me...You and Bec are the life savers," she began, removing her spectacles to rub at tired eyes. The young woman's father had kicked her out for becoming pregnant out of wedlock, and for refusing to marry the man of questionable integrity whom he'd paid to 'make an honest woman out of her.' They'd invited her to move in with them as soon as they learned of her situation; there was plenty of room in that monstrous farmhouse. "Night, Riz."

"Night," she said, pulling her in for a quick hug before continuing down the hall. Once more in the kitchen, she greeted its newest occupant with a "Hi there, stranger," and started rescuing dinner plates from the icebox.

Pouring herself a mug of tea and warming the one still on the table, Rebecca asked, "Rosie was up again?"

"Yes...she came and found me out back." Riza took a seat, sliding one plate across the table. "She just misses her Mama."

"I'm actually not sure who she misses more, me or her Auntie Riz." Her friend's smile was fatigued, hair falling out of a bun that had been in place for too many long hours. "All this overtime's killing me. I'm thankful for the money, and the work, but it's wearing me out."

"I have news on that front," she responded, washing down a bite of roast chicken and mashed potatoes with tea. "There's an opening in my department. One of the few remaining boys got called up and I told my boss you know as much about guns as I do."

"Shit, Riza. Are you serious?" The black-haired, brown-eyed beauty looked up from her plate with a grin, food on her fork forgotten. "That'd be _wonderful_. Everyone knows you gun and bomb girls have the highest wages, and shooting things every day would make me so happy."

"There _is_ some risk. You'd be testing firearms before they're packed and sent to the supply trains. Things happen...but you'd be able to work a little less overtime. If you want."

"Speaking of...why were you so late tonight? The truck was still warm."

"Second shift's been a little short lately and they had a bunch of pallets that needed to go out tonight. I offered to help."

"That was nice of you." Her friend took another bite. "Oh, some of the other wives are coming over tomorrow night to put together a care package. You'll be here, right?"

"I'm not sure. I just realized I may have to work." She hid her smirk by taking a drink.

" _Liar_. Tomorrow is Rosie's birthday...I know you took the day off." Rebecca stood and opened the cupboard to the left of the sink, where they kept a bottle of vodka they saved for special occasions, or for nights after especially arduous workdays. Pouring a finger each in two glasses, she resumed her seat. "Here, drink."

"You want something."

"No, come on now. Can't a girl give her friend some vodka for no reason?" She withered somewhat under Riza's stare and drank. "Alright, I _do_ want something. Will you write to one of the doctors in Jean's unit?" The blonde half-shook her head in uncertainty, but her friend continued before she could speak. " _Please_? He's not married...no girlfriend...and his closest relative is his aunt. She can't be here tomorrow, and she thought it'd be nice if he had someone else to write to. And I agree with her. She owns a business in East City, doesn't get to write often, and I just thought my kind and beautiful friend Riza would be perfect."

"Right, I'm sure every man wants to hear from a trigger-happy tomboy with a predilection for vodka." She paused to sip said liquor. "Your flattery was noted, by the way."

"Come on...please, please, please? You won't leave him to be the only soldier that doesn't get a letter in the care package, will you? Just think how sad and disappointed he'll be. He might _die_."

"Impressive. Thanks for taking the guilt trip to new heights." She took a deep breath, watching her friend for several seconds. "Alright, I'll do it."

"Fan _tas_ tic." Becca took a slip of paper from a pocket and passed it to her. "Colonel Roy Mustang and I are very grateful. Here's how to address it."

"Why thank you."

"Thank _you_ , Riz." Her friend deposited her already empty dish in the sink. "I'm off to bed. I want to add to my letter to Jean."

"Night, Bec." She sat contemplatively at the table for sometime before taking her tea and moving into the office at the front of the house. Retrieving a pen and paper from a drawer, she lowered herself into the chair and organized the many firearm schematics to clear off a portion of the desk. She took a pensive sip, the pen in her other hand hovering over the page, and then finally wrote.

* * *

June 8, 1943 – Valcote Field Hospital (Nine Miles from the Aerugonian Border)

On a frightfully humid morning, Roy found himself enjoying the first bit of physical training in which he'd been able to participate in over a week, sprinting down the supply road back toward camp and putting all his frustration into the effort. They'd suffered several casualties in the past week, at least ten of the wounded that had been brought in died before they could even think about operating, and several men from the medical regiment were lost in an unexpected firefight. The field hospital was subsequently moved to a safer location, but he feared it was too little too late. Had they broken camp and moved when they ought, lives could have been saved, but waves of wounded were not always predictable.

Not only had they survived a rough few days, but he also received a message from his aunt in which she shared the news of her brother's passing, and her imminent trip to Xing to handle the funerary arrangements. The smudged and crumpled letter still sat atop the makeshift desk near his bunk, and its tidings were grim, serving as a reminder that the few family members he had left continued to vanish. He'd seen plenty of carnage in the past few months, and it seemed only just that death should take a break elsewhere. Unfortunately, that was not the way of the world.

He wished he could accompany his aunt to the funeral of her only remaining brother, but leave was nearly impossible to come by when deployed, and he'd never be granted enough days to travel to Xing and back. Instead, he could only hope that Aunt Chris made the dessert-crossing safely, and be selfishly disappointed that he might not hear from her again in months. In the hell around him, it was that contact with the world back home that kept him crawling out of bed each day.

Such had been his mood of late, dark and irritated, that actually being in surgery had become something of a respite. While working he could clear his mind of everything but precise incisions, bloody amputations, tissue repairs, and shrapnel extrications. Yet reality would always return, with the volley of artillery in the distance and too many soldiers lying dead, and the members of the regiment would turn to card games or pranks to get them through the unimaginable.

He finally slowed when he passed through the entrance, breathing deeply, and a few moments later heard another set of footsteps behind his own. "Jesus, Mustang...in a hurry this morning?" Havoc wheezed, walking in circles with his hands on his hips.

Roy let out a raspy chuckle. "Just needed the exercise. We haven't had the time...I was developing an impressive case of cabin fever."

"Same here, Colonel. You know...my little girl just had her sixth birthday, and that's the second one I've missed." He shook his head, looking down. "I'm missing everything stuck out here."

"You'll get back to her." After a couple more steps, he added, "And yes, before you say it again, your daughter _will_ remember you. She was four _years_ old when you left, not four months."

"Are you always such a bright goddamn ray of sunshine? Or just for your good friend Jean?"

"Always. It's what I'm known for," Roy replied as they set off toward their bunks.

"No, you're known as the pyromaniac surgeon of the MR 54."

"That happened once," he said, holding up a hand to reinforce that point. "...and it was an accident."

"Not the way I tell it," Havoc countered, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Constantly spreading great stories about me. I appreciate it." He paused. "Fair warning, my go-to story is the one about your afternoon in the latrine."

"You're an ass."

"You're welcome."

They were passing the mess when the soldier slowed and with a sudden grin said, "Things are looking up, Colonel. Mail call."

Roy followed his friend into the over-sized tent, gratefully accepting both water and coffee from Sergeant Fuery, one of the cooks. He drank greedily from the glass of water, saving the caffeine for later, and strolled over to where Havoc was prying open a wooden crate the size of those cases in which rifles were often shipped. "Your wife sent you that? She might be a saint."

"She's amazing, but much sassier than a saint. Bec was the prettiest girl in our high school...can you believe it took _eleven_ _months_ to get her to go out with me?"

"I'm surprised she did at all."

"I was the quarterback. Come on."

"I'm still surprised. I remember your school's football team...it's losing streak remained unbroken for five years."

"Alright, look, that wasn't my fault..." Havoc interrupted himself when he flipped open the lid, jovially shouting, "Care-package day, kids! Okay...ah Fuery's got something from his _Mom_." He tossed a small box over to the young cook, amidst the usual razzing from the other soldiers that had gathered, and then continued to hand out boxes and envelopes as he listed off names. "Jones...Parker...what looks like a bonnet for Armstrong...I don't think it'll look great...a lovely sweater for Grande...your wife does know it's a million degrees out here, right?" He slid a cookie tin across the table. "Some fancy cookies for Mustang...ah, here's something for Kimblee..."

"Thanks." Roy took the tin and was already cracking it open, astonished to see it was from his favorite bakery in East City, but he only made it a few feet farther before Havoc's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Colonel...you've got a letter, too."

He spun, expression baffled. "My aunt couldn't be back already."

"It's not from her." Havoc's eyes narrowed in examination of the envelope, and then he barked out a laugh. "I know who it is...this has Becca's brand of meddling written _all_ over it."

"Then who is it?" He accepted the letter and curiously perused the unrecognizable penmanship, noting that there was no name above the return address.

"You'll see."

"Thanks for the help."

"What I'm here for." The other man looked down at the next item in his hands and exclaimed, "Why do I have so many damn pictures of _cats_?! I swear if..."

Roy strolled toward the small, dusty structure that served as his home away from home, idly smacking the letter against his leg while he walked. He'd occasionally check the handwriting, wondering despite Havoc's comment if the message might really be about his aunt, unable to completely dispel that concern. Traversing the desert was difficult, and she was not exactly young. Reminding himself it could be any number of things, many of the possibilities far from terrible, he dispelled from his mind the cynicism to which he tended and lowered himself onto his bunk.

 _May 26_

 _Colonel Mustang,_

 _I'm sure you're surprised to receive a letter from a complete stranger, and all I can say is that Rebecca Havoc is persuasive (she uses vodka, it's extremely effective). I hope this note finds you well and, as I'm admittedly unsure of where to begin, I suppose I'll introduce myself. My name is Riza Hawkeye and I live with three lovely ladies in an ancient farmhouse that really only stands thanks to some unknown miracle. The fact that my grandfather's an excellent handyman doesn't hurt._

 _I was born in East City but I've lived here in Leighton for much of my life, except for the years I spent at Eastern Amestris University. I work at the Bradley Arms Manufacturing Plant, mainly in design and repair, but since the war started I've been testing the firearms we send to the front. It's really the best job a lady could ask for (and now the thought's crossing your mind that I might be insane – I assure you I'm not)._

 _In the interest of…_

With a chuckle he lowered the page, glancing to the left when he heard someone rummaging through a bag close by. "Havoc?"

"Yeah, it's me...you have any paper? I'm out, but I need to ask my wife why she decided to adopt an entire litter of _kittens_."

"Plenty." He grabbed a small stack and handed it to his friend when the man appeared, adding as he held up the letter, "What exactly is this?"

Havoc shrugged in amusement. "I had nothing to do with it. If I had to guess, I'd say Becca found out Aunt Chris would be out of town, decided you should get mail anyway, and talked Hawkeye into writing to you."

"So it's...what...pity mail?"

" _Holy hell_...no. It's just a friend doing something nice for a soldier." He laughed quietly. "And once my wife makes up her mind, she doesn't take no for an answer."

"Right..." He nodded somewhat uncertainly, recognizing that his gut reaction may have been a tad unfair. "I'm just a sleep-deprived ass…Ignore me."

"Will do, Colonel."

Turning back to put his feet up on the crate that functioned as his desk, he picked up where he left off reading before:

 _In the interest of honesty, I should tell you I stole several of those peanut butter cookies. I know, I'm one of those horrible people that steals desserts from soldiers but, in my defense, they're phenomenal and it was a very difficult day. Rosie loved them, too, and it's mostly her fault we opened them to begin with. (I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention to Havoc that I blamed my sweet tooth on his daughter.) On a related note, how did you find that bakery? It's so well-hidden._

 _Also, I heard that your aunt reached Xing safely and plans to be back in East City in two months or so. I thought you might like to know._

 _To close, I'd just like to say that what you're doing is incredible. I can only imagine what life is like in a field hospital and, if you'd rather not reply, I certainly understand. However, despite my talk of being persuaded, it'd be my pleasure to continue writing. I leave the choice to you, Colonel, but in any event I'll send more cookies (we really ate too many)._

 _RH_

Following another mention of his sweet of choice he reached into the tin, realizing only after reading the letter that there were fewer cookies than normal. Nevertheless, he was thankful for the reminder that home still awaited him and, if he closed his eyes, he could picture his aunt's bar, almost hear her gruffly ordering cooks and barmaids around. Those images may not say 'comforts of home' to most, but he'd grown up above that bar, and there were nights he had trouble sleeping without the muffled murmur of conversation one floor below. Somehow, distant explosions and gunfire did not have the same soporific effect.

He skimmed the letter once more, trying to decide how he wanted to respond. His first inclination was to go the 'Thank you, but please don't feel obligated to write a man you've never met' route but, if he was truthful, he liked the idea of having someone else to communicate with. Here he had the offer of a correspondence that could very well keep him sane, and he'd be an imbecile not to accept. He was still mulling it over when the alarm sounded, warning them that more wounded were en route, and he grabbed the cleanest scrubs he could find. Taking the other cup, he broke into his well-practiced coffee-carrying jog in the direction of the showers.

* * *

June 23, 1943 – Leighton, Amestris

The mid-afternoon sun was warm on her cheek, and Riza leaned back in the rickety chair to close her eyes and bask in it. The heat might have been oppressive, if not for the gusts that rattled the tree branches above and shook her hair mercilessly. The pages of her book fluttered wildly but she ignored them, instead listening to the energetic bark of a neighbor's dog, the rumble of a truck laboring down the road, the clink of ice in Becca's chilled tea. They were taking advantage of a rare moment of calm, with Walter having taken Rosie into town and Sheska off sketching in the woods north of the property.

"Why can't _every_ Saturday be like this?" her friend contentedly sighed, shortly following that up with, "Oh, right, because my daughter has the endless energy of a monkey and has taken over our lives."

"She bites less though, which is nice." Riza smiled, shifting to put her feet up on an adjacent chair.

The other woman chuckled. "Fortunately her little biting phase only lasted a few weeks."

"I remember it well." She held up her left hand to show the small scar she'd acquired during those weeks.

"I forgot about that...so glad that's over." Becca glanced at the driveway with heavily-lidded eyes, the warmth clearly lulling her into an impromptu nap, and added, "When are they supposed to be back, anyway?"

"Soon, I'd think. Walter only had to run over to Armstrong's Feed after they stopped to see his veterinarian friend. Shouldn't be much longer."

"Those damn kittens…" The brunette gave another chuckle, this one drier than the last. "I can't wait to see what Jean has to say."

"You mean he _won't_ be thrilled?"

"Probably not, but he'll come around."

"And here I thought the cat photos with little Rosie would cheer him up."

"I'm sure they did." Becca's smile took on the same worried lines that always formed when she was waiting to hear from her husband. With each day her friend's concern would intensify, wondering whether or not he was still alive and if she'd ever see him again. Whenever his response finally arrived, she'd reply and the process would repeat.

"He's fine," Riza quietly told her, taking her hand. "Trust me. I have a sixth sense about these things."

The other woman squeezed her hand to express gratitude for the support. "You and your made-up senses...just the other day you claimed to have one about rifles." She picked up her glass, ice cubes tinkling softly. "You can't call me them _all_ a sixth sense, by the way. I'm beginning to wonder if numbers confuse you."

"My understanding of numbers is just fine, thank you. I have many gifts, Rebecca Havoc...and all I said was that I have a _feel_ for sniper rifles. Which is true."

" _Please_ tell me you didn't talk about guns when you wrote to Colonel Mustang."

"I told him I test firearms for a living, that's all," she told her, stealing a sip of her friend's tea.

"Oh my god, you actually took my advice. Maybe you'll hear from him after all."

"It was completely unintentional. I meant to launch into an essay detailing the finer points of the latest Bradley hand guns, but I ran out of paper."

"You might be cracked."

"I _think_ you've got a few more screws loose than I do."

"Well, you're about six apples shy of a bushel," Becca retorted.

Riza shook her head, putting on a playful grimace. "Not your best insult, my friend. That was...awkward. Painful, even."

"Jean told me about it in one of his letters. It's a very popular saying in Aerugo."

"I don't think it is," she teased, flipping the book shut.

The brunette gave her a light slap. "You're just plain mean."

"Mama!" an excited voice suddenly shouted before the old teal pick-up had even crunched to a halt in the driveway.

"Hi, baby!" Becca waved, a smile blooming at the sight of her daughter. "Our peace is over."

"I was getting tired of you anyway."

"You're spunky today. And did I mention _mean_?" her friend replied, holding the gate open for them to pass through to help unload the truck.

Riza shot her grandfather an amused look when he passed with a furiously meowing crate, Rosie hot on his heels, and then lowered the tailgate so she could haul a couple bags of groceries from the bed. She deposited them in the kitchen and held the door for Becca, noticing the little girl was already trying to liberate the kittens from their wooden prison. "Shut the gate first, Rosie. Let's keep them in the backyard."

"Okay!" she shouted, sprinting away.

At the same time, Walter was climbing the steps to join them in the kitchen. "I'm making dinner tonight, ladies. How does goulash sound?"

"Ah, the Grumman family specialty," Riza rejoined, taking the first of several bundles he carried.

"Otherwise known as 'the only dish he knows how to make,'" Becca added.

"However you want to put it," the man responded, pulling the items he'd need out of various bags and handing others off to be put away. "We all know it's delicious. You know, it's a s..."

"...secret family recipe," the women finished simultaneously, in sing-song tones.

"Walter's making goulash for dinner, then," Sheska's voice suddenly concluded, preceding her appearance in the doorway by only a moment.

The newcomer sat with a tired huff while the kitchen filled with laughter, and Walter glared false daggers at them all. Riza set a glass of water in front of the young woman and opened her mouth to make a comment which was soon forgotten, as she became distracted by an oddly shaped, lumpy parcel on the table. "Grandfather...you _didn't_."

"I did. Because I'm the absolute best grandfather to ever walk the earth."

"You might be taking it a _bit_ far..." She hugged him before producing scissors to clip the brown twine holding the package together. "...but I won't argue."

"It's a blanket," Sheska announced with a touch of incredulity once the gift was unwrapped, clearly not understanding her friend's excitement.

" _What_?" Becca came to see for herself. "I expected a goddamn solid gold brick with all the fuss from Walter." There was a pause as she checked on her daughter, and then she bustled outside whilst shouting, "Rosie Marie! What do you think you're doing?!"

"It's June...you must've forgotten." Sheska's tone was very matter-of-fact. "Those are for _winter_. I'm dying of heatstroke and you want a blanket."

"First off, it's a _quilt_ , smartass." She held part of it up, with significantly more glee than one would expect from the recipient of a quilt, no matter how finely crafted or comfortable it may be. "I had a smaller one just like it when I was younger...my Mom made it...but it got lost during one of my moves. This looks so similar to the original."

"I found an old picture and asked a friend of mine if she could recreate it for my darling granddaughter's birthday. She's the best seamstress I've ever met," Walter began. "I know the colors may not be..."

"I love it," she interrupted. "It's perfect. But who's this _friend_?"

"That's none of your business. I won't have you three running her off like you did Patricia."

" _We_ didn't…Becca did."

"Horseshit," the woman herself proclaimed, making her way back into the kitchen. "Patricia scared easy, I didn't do a thing. I only posed a few harmless questions. What was she hiding? That's what you should be wondering."

"Yes, Walter, we like to thoroughly vet and shock your lady friends because we care." Riza smirked. "And I'm guessing you'd like us to care less."

"It's certainly a thought." He suddenly made an irritated noise to himself and reached into one of the bags on the counter. "It completely escaped me. The post office had letters for you three."

"I _told_ you he'd reply." Becca's self-satisfaction was immense.

"There'll be no dealing with her now." Sheska took the letter offered to her with obvious reservation, clearly thinking it was from her parents. "She'll never stop meddling."

"I don't meddle...I provide the occasional gentle nudge when needed."

"There was no nudging when you asked me to write to the doctor. I remember manipulation, and a guilt trip..."

"Right, nudging." The brunette held up her envelope and sauntered outside. "I'll be back."

As the screen door snapped shut, Riza took her own letter and picked up the quilt. "I'll be down to help with dinner in a little while." Passing Sheska, she set a hand on the other woman's shoulder and added, "How are you?"

"Fine," was the quiet reply as the brief letter was lowered to the table. "Just my family being my family."

"Don't pay attention to them. You'll always have a home with us."

Sheska smiled her thanks and squeezed her hand, slowly rising from the chair, a protective hand moving to her growing belly. "I think I'll lie down for a bit."

The women left the kitchen together and parted ways in the hall, Riza climbing the stairs to her room. The door closed with a light groan and she dropped onto the bed, lovingly draping a corner of the quilt atop her lap and running her fingertips over the stitches with a nostalgic grin. Her eye was then drawn by the envelope and she sliced it open, still shocked he'd written back at all.

Feeling an unexpectedly solid object in one corner, she unfolded the paper within and out fell a thin and extremely old bronze coin. It looked to have been recently cleaned to some extent, but fine lines of dirt were caught in slim crevasses and one face was largely flattened by age and wear, any engravings having become unidentifiable grooves. On the other side the markings were more distinct, and she was able to make out the shape of an octopus as well as a few characters she was unable to understand. It was heavy in her hand despite its small size, the metal smooth beneath her fingers, and it still felt warm from the time it had spent in the back of a mail truck. Now even more curious, she turned her gaze to the letter and found it was covered in a small, tightly packed script which seemed to be the victim of that slight lack of tidiness common in the handwriting of doctors.

 _June 10_

 _Miss Hawkeye,_

 _While it's true your letter came as quite the surprise, it was a pleasant one and, with this reply, I accept your offer of a correspondence (and do hereby forgive the theft of any baked goods). To reciprocate your introduction, my name is Roy Mustang and I'm currently a surgeon in the 54th Medical Regiment stationed in the Southern Region (I'm not permitted to say exactly where). I studied medicine in Central City but I'm originally from East City, where I grew up above my aunt's bar. If you're ever in the city for breakfast, the cook there makes the most incredible omelettes._

 _Thank you for news of my aunt, by the way. The trip across the desert is no easy jaunt. I've undertaken it myself a time or two, and I was relieved to hear she was safe. The last time I crossed we nearly ran out of water, but that still that wasn't my worst experience. My first crossing involved a scorpion finding its way into my trousers which, needless to say, was unpleasant._

 _As to your being insane, I certainly doubt it. but we just 'met' and it'd be prudent to reserve judgment until I know you a bit better. To jump to another topic, I'm quite curious to hear how you ended up in that line of work. I've never known anyone in arms manufacturing and, given my current occupation, it's a greater part of my life than I ever expected._

 _And now to the coin, which I imagine you've been wondering about. Jean informed me of your birthday and, though I know this is only our first exchange (and that now you'll think I'm insane), I didn't want to let it pass unacknowledged. So, happy birthday, or a happy belated one should this arrive late. The coin is one of several we found while digging trenches when we were first setting up camp. They were in a rusty old lock box and, according to Lt. Col. Hughes, the general surgeon who considers himself an amateur archaeologist, they're about 600 years old (so, please don't tell anyone I sent it to you)._

 _Work is calling and the convoy carrying the mail is about to leave._

 _Until next time,_

 _RM_

 _P.S. That bakery is just a few blocks from my aunt's bar, and I used to pass it every day on the way home from school. I stopped in so often they started to give me free cookies, and the peanut butter variety were always my favorite. My cousin Vanessa likes to say they were pity cookies, but I'm convinced the baker's daughter was sweet on me._

Lost in thought, Riza leaned against the headboard, alternately reading sections of the letter and examining the coin, the corners of her mouth threatening to turn upward. The Colonel's response was not precisely what she'd anticipated.

* * *

October 9, 1943 – Valcote Field Hospital

"Alright, that was the second bullet...and I repaired another perf," Roy said with a tired sigh, thunder rumbling beyond the canvas walls that served as their only protection from the elements. "Run the bowel, Havoc. I want to make sure we haven't missed anything."

"Will do, Doc," the soldier answered, grumbling incoherently, his disappointment plain. "Dammit...I've seen enough _bowel_ to last me a lifetime."

"I said the exact same thing during my residency." He paused to fish out a bullet fragment. "There was this attending…I got on his bad side and he threw me every shit job he thought was beneath him. You know..." He gestured toward the intestines in the soldier's hands. "...like boring things that can save lives."

"And you hate me because?"

"No particular reason."

"Thanks, Colonel." Havoc snorted in amusement, soon changing the subject when he looked outside to air an entirely different complaint. "Good god...it's been raining for ten years."

"The weather here is all over the place," Breda agreed, stopping by to drop off more gauze pads. "Hotter than shit one day and pouring buckets the next. It's ridiculous."

"The variety's kind of great, isn't it?" Hughes asked, pausing to peer with interest into the body lying open on the table.

" _No_ ," Roy replied decisively, and his was not the only voice to answer. "It's not."

"Someone's cranky." The doctor moved away to his own patient adding, "When really we should all be thrilled, because I hear it's mystery meatloaf and jawbreakers for dinner tonight."

"Hardtack...Havoc's favorite," Roy commented, then muttering to himself when he finally found the minuscule tear he'd been hunting, "There you are...little bastard."

"You gotta crumble them up in the gravy," Havoc said, regaling them all with his advice on the best use of the aforementioned biscuits. "That's the secret."

"Or shit, mix them with whiskey. It gets the job done, and it tastes better than what they like to call gravy here." Roy fixed the perforation, moving on to pick a bullet fragment out of a rib. "How's that bowel looking?"

"It's about the prettiest I've ever seen. This guy had all the luck...no septicemia for him." He gave an exaggerated, dreamy sigh. "If only Becca could see me now."

"I really hope you leave all the blood and guts out of your letters home," Breda chortled.

"Are you kidding? My girl's not squeamish...she probably would've joined up as a nurse if we didn't have Rosie." He paused for a moment, helping to check the body cavity before they closed the incision. "Speaking of letters...where's the damn mail truck?"

"Can't wait for more cat photos?" Roy asked, amused.

"You laugh now, but you'll start getting them, too. Twenty says you have at least one from Hawkeye."

"You're on, but I think my chances are pretty good." He threw the final stitch, evaluating his work like the perfectionist he was. "Breda, take him to post. I'll check on him in a few hours."

"Roger that."

"I don't know, Doc," Havoc said, continuing the conversation as they removed their gowns, scrubbed, and left the surgical tent. "I _might_ know Hawkeye a little better than you. She likes to pretend she's no cuddlier than a porcupine, but she's secretly a softie."

"A porcupine? Really?"

"It was the only thing that came to mind. I'm tired, alright?"

"Then sleep. I can't have you killing my patients."

"Can't...gotta see if the mail came yet, so I know if I'm taking your money today."

"That's deep," Roy joked, hurrying through the downpour and following his friend into the mess hall, which had become the unofficial mail delivery venue due to it's location. When they found only busy cooks and weary soldiers, they ate a quick lunch and returned to their respective bunks to rest. Once there he found a package had been tossed onto his cot, since they'd evidently missed mail call while in surgery. His lips quirked when he saw it, and he could not ignore the lift in his spirits when he recognized the barely slanted scrawl on top, saw the now familiar way she wrote his name, the letters connecting like it was all one word.

They had been exchanging letters for a few months, though the mail on his end had been a bit sporadic over the past thirty days, and he'd begun to look forward to her messages more than he'd initially expected. It was an incredible relief to read her letters, to let himself be distracted by pleasant stories far removed from blood and war. He'd quickly discovered that even the most mundane details could be encouraging.

He pulled out a knife and carefully sliced through the cord that secured the package, smiling again when he saw the cookie tin on top and glancing at the growing collection beneath his bunk. Below the tin rested a small stack of handkerchiefs, because he'd mentioned his were ragged from excessive use in the heat, and after those were a few containers of coffee and tea (the Earl Grey she'd taken to sending him was the best he'd ever tried). Finally, he found a fresh supply of dental cream and shave soap along with two bundles of letters, some bearing evidence of having been returned.

When he emptied the first envelope something fluttered to the ground, and he bent to pick up what turned out to be a photograph. Though it was a black and white shot, he could tell it was taken in a sun-soaked yard, a white fence visible in the background with part of a tree trunk to one side. In the center was a woman with light hair, a heart-shaped face, and a brilliant smile that told him she was laughing. Her bright eyes were directed toward someone or something outside the frame, and a dark kitten was held against her chest, sniffing at her neck. The image showed the tiniest blur from motion, as though it was snapped at the very instant the kitten had pounced, and he was briefly distracted by just how gorgeous she was.

When he finally tore his eyes away, he saw the following:

 _Sept. 3  
_

 _Colonel,_

 _I was so relieved to see your letter. We heard on the radio there'd been a large engagement and, since we never know exactly where you and Havoc are, we were worried. Becca nearly broke down the door she was so excited and...I may have written these lines before even opening the mail. Maybe. For now, I have to run downstairs, because Rosie let the kittens out back. Again._

 _Sept. 4  
_

 _Yesterday afternoon turned into an impromptu, late-season blackberry harvest after the marathon kitten search, which was intense. Somehow the little gray one managed to find his way to the roof of the garage. He's a brave little thing and, silly as it may sound, I've named him Lancelot. Since I'm sure you're dying to know, the rest are Peanut (Rosie's favorite), Westminster (courtesy of my grandfather), and Hania. The last was named by Sheska – she used the name she'd picked for a girl since she's convinced she's having a boy and won't need it._

 _Interestingly, I received a photo of you today from your cousin, and the consensus of the house is that you're quite handsome. We'll poll Walter when he comes for breakfast in the morning - I know you await his judgment with bated breath. As a side note, thank you for asking Vanessa to send the portrait. It's nice to be able to put a face to the name, and I'll reciprocate the gesture as soon as I have one to send._

Roy's eyes moved back to the picture of her that he lightly tapped against a knee, undeniably pleased that she thought him handsome. He chuckled quietly to himself as well when he again caught sight of the kitten, because it meant he owed Havoc some money.

 _Sept. 6_

 _I'm very sorry to break your heart, Colonel, but grandfather said you look like a mongoose. Honestly, I don't think he's ever seen one._

 _Sept. 7_

 _I know I only wrote a couple lines yesterday, but I have an excellent reason. Sheska went into labor and, after over fifteen hours, a gorgeous little girl named Hania has joined the family. We're taking bets on whether or not her eye color will change, if you're interested. My money's on dark green, like her mother. Said mother is sleeping (obviously), and I'm loitering around her hospital room so she doesn't wake up alone. Since it's 3 A.M. and I have to be to work in a few hours, I thought this would be the perfect time to write._

 _Let's see, to this week's village news. The sheriff's wife ran off with my neighbor's son a few days ago, which is Leighton's biggest scandal in a decade, the last being when the previous sheriff was accused of bootlegging whiskey. (He was, of course, because he sold it to half the town, but no one would testify and they couldn't prove it so he simply retired and moved to Central.) Also, one Mr. Raven of Raven's Grocery drunkenly drove a car through his own front window. I hear his wife was home when it happened and was so furious she hit him over the head with a frying pan. He survived, and repairs on his house are underway. Finally, a bit of city news: Mr. Bradley is having a ridiculous statue of himself built in front of the manufacturing plant, and he actually thinks it's a great idea. Need I say more?_

 _Your Aunt Chris phoned the other day to let us know she's getting settled back in East City, and that she'll write you when she's 'good and ready, dammit.' Those were her words. (As a side note, she also insulted Walter and invited herself over for dinner. I like her already). And I should probably tell you that Vanessa now calls me every so often with the sole intention of trying to embarrass you. She's decided to send me a photo of you covered in mud after she shoved you into a pig pen, and another of you dressed as an elf for Christmas. I can burn them for you if you want._

 _I'll have to keep writing later, Sheska's waking up._

 _Goodnight_

 _Sept. 9_

 _It turns out I don't have very many pictures of myself. I moved around quite a bit before moving in with Walter, and what photos we had must have gotten lost. I'll enclose the only one I have from earlier this summer. Feel free to laugh at it._

He flipped the page over, finding it ludicrous that she thought he'd laugh at that picture, and also silently cursing Vanessa for showing _anyone_ the damn elf photo. He also appreciated Hawkeye's offer to dispose of them, and was thinking he just might take her up on it when the next page stole his attention. It was a childlike rendering of a house with three stories, a gigantic tree to the right, and a horse on the left that was nearly as large as the building itself. There was also a boxy sketch of a truck and several stick figures in the foreground, and at the bottom there was a caption: _From Rosie. She calls you Mr. Stang, and it's adorable. Oh, and check the tin...A happy (very) early birthday to you, Colonel. I didn't want it to be late._

The set of his brow now more intrigued, he rescued the container from atop his bunk, a light shake proving that the usual cookies were absent. Inside she'd somehow managed to pack three slim mystery novels, a medical journal he'd mentioned he enjoyed reading, and tucked beneath the latter's cover he found numerous crossword puzzles clipped from a popular newspaper, The East City Ledger. With another smile he reached for the next sheaf of papers covered in her writing, and it only grew when, at the end of the very last letter, she signed with her first name rather than her usual initials. He found that, for whatever reason, he liked the change.

* * *

October 21, 1943 – Leighton, Amestris

Riza opened the envelope in her truck, which still sat in front of the post office, too impatient to wait until she reached home to read the Colonel's unexpectedly quick response. Between busy lives and the nature of postal routes in war time, not to mention that his only semi-stable hospital had to move on occasion, they often sent each other small collections of letters at a time, each envelope packed full of pages. This particular parcel was uncommonly thin, her name and address scratched out in his hand, and she ran a thumb over his name in the upper left-hand corner. It held just a few sheets of paper, and she slowly unfolded the first.

 _October 10_

 _Riza,_

 _I apologize for not writing more, I didn't have much time, but I'd just seen your picture (you remember, the one you thought I'd laugh at), and I wanted to thank you for sending it. On an only partially-related note, I had to give Havoc twenty bucks because there was a kitten in it. And, maybe I'm biased, but I'm partial to Lancelot. A fan of Arthurian legend, are you?_

 _Things here are much the same as they always are. The echoes of artillery are a constant, and I've spent more time in surgery the past week than I have anywhere else. Breda is now in the habit of bringing a cart of food and coffee by the surgical tent so we can step outside for a bite whenever we can. We have to scrub again, of course, but it's worth it to keep us standing upright a while longer._

 _I'll have to continue later. Duty calls._

 _October 11_

 _Yes, I'd really appreciate it if you burned that damn elf photo. That thing has been plaguing me since I was nine. Vanessa loves to bring it out at parties, birthdays...or just any old Thursday...to my eternal shame. In my opinion the only thing it proves is that my aunt has a slightly sadistic sense of humor. And while you're at it please burn that damn pig pen photo, too. Might as well rid the world of them both._

 _And….a mongoose? You can tell your grandfather he looks like a dingo. Or maybe a marmot. I'm only guessing._

 _I can beat Mr. Raven's story. I did grow up above a bar, after all. There were too many crazy stories to count, but for some reason my favorite was always Old John. He was the most well-behaved regular we had, knew my aunt for a long time, but one night he got a little over-zealous and had to be cut off. Aunt Chris took his car keys and he left without a fuss, only to turn up again two hours later carrying a skunk he called Oliver. He set the animal on the bar, told us his new puppy was hungry, and proceeded to go outside and fall asleep under his truck. That's where I found him the next morning, with another skunk chewing on his jacket, and he didn't remember any of it. I'd still really like to know where he was for those two hours._

 _I know I'm jumping around quite a bit. I apologize...it's late and I'm half-asleep._

 _Goodnight_

She shifted the pages around to read the next letter, but a smaller sheet caught her attention and she slid it free. Her brow wrinkled as she picked it up, and she was surprised to find it contained only two words:

 _You're beautiful._

A smile bloomed on her face, her cheeks felt suddenly warm in spite of the day's chill, and she read those two words many times over.

 **To be continued...**

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you for reading, I hope you liked the first half of the story, and have a great day!


	5. The Doctor and the Gunsmith (Part 2)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Responses to guest reviews can be found at the end of this post. That's all I had today, so I hope you enjoy the second half of the story :)

* * *

 **The Doctor and the Gunsmith** (Part 2)

December 23, 1943 – Leighton, Amestris

Snow fell lazily outside and Riza hummed along to the big band tune playing on the radio while she stirred the evening's second batch of cookie dough. Rosie stood across the counter, her ever dutiful assistant, and they made faces at each other while the girl packed sweets into containers. To prepare for the holiday gathering the following day, they'd spent the afternoon making oat muffins and orange drop cookies, desserts which lent themselves well to a time of enforced rations. Their private indulgence for Christmas day would be the molasses cookies currently in progress, which required a bit more sugar, but had always been her and Becca's favorites.

The next song to come on was a jazz number of which she was especially fond, and she set down the bowl in favor of twirling little Rosie around the kitchen. Her niece's arm latched around her neck, and they danced down the hall, circling around a surprised Sheska before passing through to the sitting room where Walter was helping Becca rearrange furniture to better accommodate their future guests. Returning the giggling girl to the chair she'd been standing on, Riza resumed her stirring and teased, "Back to work, troublemaker."

Becca appeared and bent to kiss her daughter's cheek. "You wouldn't be distracting your auntie, now would you?"

" _No_ , Mama," she replied, with an adorably earnest shake of the head.

"We've been here the whole time," the blonde added with a wink to her accomplice.

"Because Auntie Riz here _promised_ me molasses cookies."

Rosie shrieked gleefully when her mother tickled her, running from the room like a bat out of hell and pounding up the stairs to escape. It was miraculous that Riza could hear the knocking above the ruckus and, wiping her floured hands with a towel on her way to the foyer, she opened the front door to wave the newcomer inside. "Mrs. Fuery…come in. I'm Riza, we spoke on the phone."

"Thank you," the older woman said with a pleasant smile, watching her with bright hazel eyes. "Call me Lucille, please." She wore a crisp coat of gray wool over a mauve dress, and spectacles were pushed up into her gray locks as if for safe-keeping. Kain Fuery was a member of the MR 54 and, in one of his letters, Roy had disclosed that the young soldier's mother would be alone for the holiday, as she had no other family. Riza had called almost immediately to invite her over. "I do hope I'm not inconveniencing you, but I could only get a ticket for this evening's train."

"Not at all. We're so glad you could come." She took the guest's bag, and led her along the first floor hall. "I'm sorry we didn't know...I would've picked you up at the station. Please don't tell me you _walk_ _ed_ all this way."

"Goodness, no. I was about to call when your neighbor offered to give me a ride."

"Oh, Mr. Nielsen...that was kind of him." Flipping on the light, she placed the bag on a chair and waved a hand around the space. "This is the guest room, that's the bathroom across the hall, and..." She paused at another playful shriek from upstairs, and smirked. "Rosie and her mom are in the middle of a chase. Anyway, please make yourself at home."

"Thank you for having me." Lucille pressed her hand. "I can't say I was looking forward to Christmas before you called. It's my first with him deployed."

"We understand...believe me." Riza started back toward the entryway, pausing as Rosie came careening down the stairs. "Honestly, I think that's why Bec decided to host the families this year...the distraction." A few quick introductions were made after that, and then she returned to the kitchen, checking the dough and preparing one of the trays. "Where's my dessert girl? We still have some cookies that need put away."

"I'm here, auntie." Rosie climbed up on the chair and cast a surreptitious look toward the sitting room, where Lucille was becoming acquainted with the extremely friendly Hania. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, "Mrs. Lucy _smells_ pretty. Like grandma Havoc."

"She _does_."

"If we do an early present tonight, can I give her one?"

"Yes...I think she'd like that," Riza replied, dropping batter by the spoonful onto a baking sheet.

"...just got them the other day," Becca was saying as she walked by with Sheska and Mrs. Fuery in tow. "Apparently they got their hands on a camera while decorating the mess tent." The brunette shuffled through some papers on the table, producing a pile of black and white photos she'd developed from the film her husband sent. "And I hope you decided to stay for New Year's, too. We just relax at home, listen to the radio...nothing exciting, but it's nice."

The blonde slid the cookie sheet into the oven and glanced at the clock to note the time, moving to peer over Lucille's shoulder at the photos. There were several of soldiers she did not recognize playing cards, and then a nice shot of Kain sporting a Santa hat and hanging a paper chain on the wall. About a quarter of the way through the collection they came upon a picture of Havoc with paper stars stuck all over his face, at which point Becca chuckled. "And that's _Jean_."

"Always an adult, your husband," Riza joked, and made her way to the oven after once more checking the clock. With the cookies set aside to cool, she busied herself with cleaning up the baking mess and returning various ingredients to their proper place.

By that time Rosie had disappeared into the sitting room with Walter to play with the cats, and she was wiping off the counter when she heard Lucille murmur, "I'm not sure who _that_ is. Oh, Riza, _this_ must be your Colonel. He's a handsome one, isn't he? Kain's told me about him...sounds like a nice young man."

"Yeah, Riz," Becca began, giving her the amused smirk she saved for just such occasions. "Come take a look at your Colonel."

She narrowed her eyes at the brunette as she skirted the counter, giving her friend a light slap on the shoulder with one hand and reaching for the image with the other. It showed Jean flanked by Roy and a man she recognized from descriptions only, each with a plain mug in hand. Despite everything they were grinning, and looked to have recently been in surgery judging by their attire. She could not stop the slight curve of her lips, eyes drawn to the dark-haired gentleman on the left, but she hastily snapped herself out of it and said, "The one on the right is Lieutenant Colonel Hughes...a general surgeon from Central. His wife and daughter will be here tomorrow, too."

They perused the photos until they were joined by Walter, and then a card game broke out that lasted until well after Rosie and Hania were put to bed. It was late when Riza finally pushed open the door of her bedroom, and her head tilted in surprise upon finding a small package resting atop the quilt. Patting her arm as she passed, Becca told her, "I knew you weren't going to wait to read your Colonel's letter until Christmas...that's the gift that goes with it." She paused in front of her own room. "Don't worry, I'm not waiting to read Jean's either. Patience is overrated."

Voice quiet, she said, "I don't think we can call him _my_ Colonel."

The other woman simply nodded. "Oh, I think we can."

Leaving her friend with a shake of the head, she readied herself for bed, all the while eyeing the package and accompanying letter with some trepidation. From a pocket she produced the picture they'd looked at earlier, and set it on her desk near the only other image of Mustang she had. The first depicted him with his aunt Chris and cousin Vanessa in front of the bar, smirking at the camera like there was a joke he was keeping to himself. And it was nice, certainly, but she found herself drawn to the most recent addition. Maybe it was the curve of his mouth, or the tired set of his eyes, but for some reason it was in _that_ photo she seemed to truly see the man to whom she wrote. The overworked and, perhaps, slightly disillusioned doctor trying to survive and save as many lives as he could.

Taking the letter from the desktop, she gave the cat on her bed a scratch and burrowed under the covers to read it, still feeling inexplicably apprehensive.

 _December 9, 1943_

 _Riza,_

 _I'm sending this note insanely early in hopes it'll reach you in time. To make sure your gift remained a surprise I enlisted the help of my aunt and Mrs. Havoc - please forgive the secrecy. And I know you told me not to go to any trouble, but I didn't listen._

 _Merry Christmas,_

 _Roy_

Though the letter was brief, it made her smile, and she pulled the box onto her lap to tear it open. When she peeled back the packing paper her mouth dropped open, because folded neatly inside was a scarf of deep blue silk, embroidered prettily with threads of cream, silver, sky blue, and a burnished shade of gold. The corners of her lips tugging further upward, she let the fabric spill over her fingers and glide silently onto the bed, eyes following the designs. The phrase _your Colonel_ invaded her thoughts and she glanced at the photo on her writing desk, a nervous little thrill hurtling through her.

Pulling the scarf with her, she climbed out of bed and let herself into the room across the hall, leaning against the inside of that door with a soft exhalation. Sheets rustled faintly, and then Becca asked, "Something wrong?"

"I'm in trouble."

The other woman let out a quiet chortle. "I could've told you that." As Riza lay down beside her, she added, "If it helps, I'm in trouble, too."

"Do explain."

"I _miss_ Jean...and I'm very seriously considering kidnapping him, but I have a feeling the military would frown on that. I'd probably end up in prison, and _that's_ no good because none of you can survive without me."

"We could abduct your husband. How hard can it be?" She shrugged thoughtfully, running the scarf between her fingers. "I'm thinking we have Walter take Rosie to Xing ahead of time so they'll be safe. And we'd book our passage under assumed names, of course. Because we'll be fugitives."

"Good ideas. _This_ is why you're my partner in crime," her friend replied, fluffing a pillow and turning on her side. "And then really all we need is some rope, maybe a tranquilizer or two, and a car with a large luggage compartment." She was silent for an instant. "You know, Mrs. Forster's old rust-bucket has a nice-sized trunk...we'd probably even have room for _your Colonel_."

"Hush, you."

The pair were silent for several minutes, until Becca whispered, "He'll make it, right?"

Riza reached over to take the other woman's hand. "That man chased you for a solid year. It'll take more than this war to keep Jean Havoc from coming back to you."

"It's strange how you can always make me feel better."

"It's a gift...speaking of my many talents, I have about ten pages ready for the Colonel on the evolution of the bolt-action rifle. Care to proofread it for me?"

Becca gave a little snort. "I refuse." She then made a noise that was somewhere between vexed sigh and agonized groan. "Good god... _why_ did I invite all these people over tomorrow?"

"To give Rosie as normal a Christmas as possible. Damn you and your motherly ways."

"I know." There more rustling, and the clock scraped across the bedside table as her friend tried to read its face in the dark. "How do you feel about vodka and 2 A.M. meal prep?"

"They're only my two favorite things in the _whole_ _world_."

* * *

December 29, 1943 – Valcote Field Hospital

After spending several hours in surgery, and yet another checking on his post-ops, Roy finally ducked out of the recovery ward to take advantage of a few spare seconds of freedom. Once outdoors he let loose a weighty sigh, the air pleasantly cool but not nearly cold enough to give him the jolt of energy he craved. Swiping a hand over his head to remove the surgical cap still perched there, he raised the other to massage the stubborn and painful knot that had recently taken up residence in his neck, pacing around one corner of the structure until he found the smattering of chairs along the wall.

He sat ponderously, limbs protesting the change after standing for so long and, as if right on schedule, the camp's resident stray plodded toward him, cold nose investigating his palms for treats. Scratching the mutt behind the ears, he lamented, "I don't have anything for you today, girl. I'm sorry." Seemingly in a forgiving mood, the animal plopped down at his feet and Roy slumped lazily as his fatigue asserted its presence. A truck momentarily distracted him, but only long enough for him to wonder what the hell kind of delivery they were getting at 0300.

Stars glittered in the clear sky above, the sight familiar, a reminder of home, and it was almost enough to make him forget where he was. Almost. Even if he'd managed to become lost to nostalgia, the omnipresent echoes of mortar fire would have quickly pulled him back. And to top it off those explosions seemed closer, which made him tense. It was times like that he felt doubly fortunate to have been assigned to the field hospital, where they were lucky enough to enjoy some comforts, and more regular news from home.

Home. It was the inevitable topic of conversation over the past weeks, with soldiers reminiscing about their mother's apple pie or their great-grandmother's unparalleled stuffing. Hughes could wax poetic for hours on his daughter's letter to Santa and his wife's eggnog, which could supposedly make a grown man weep. (For his part, Roy had never tasted an eggnog that good in his life, and thoroughly doubted its existence.) Meanwhile, Jean would turn glassy-eyed when talking about the evening the Havocs would spend decorating the tree whilst Hawkeye made gumbo. It was an interesting tradition, and one he'd made a mental note to inquire after in his next letter, because no one had ever heard of Christmas _gumbo._

Roy's family of three, on the other hand, had never been much for holiday celebrations. They hosted a dinner in the bar on December 25th each year, but it was less for Christmas and more for lonely patrons that had nowhere else to spend the day. It was a slightly melancholy tradition, perhaps, but one in which he'd been happy to participate. Those patrons deserved to feel welcome somewhere. Thus, it was not the latter half of December itself that intensified his feelings of loneliness and homesickness, but rather the blonde that had monopolized his thoughts of late.

He'd received no word from her that month and, as it turned out, the absence of her correspondence had made him realize how fully he'd come to rely on it. He never _expected_ to receive a note to mark the occasion, because he understood that her life extended far beyond writing to him. He'd simply _hoped_ and, though he disliked admitting it, his disappointment grew with each week that came and went without a message from Hawkeye. He often tried to remind himself that, ostensibly, they were still just two people carrying on a casual correspondence, but his potentially foolish hopes often betrayed him.

When the dog stirred he looked over to see Hughes ambling in his direction, and the cup of coffee that soon materialized in his hand perked him up by aroma alone. "Thanks."

"It's not that fancy shit your lady friend sends, but you'll survive," Maes replied, taking the chair to his right.

Roy sipped, steam escaping his nose when he chuckled. "I'm shocked you didn't take the opportunity to snoop around under the guise of looking for my _fancy coffee_. I bet you're the type that sifts through someone's mail if they leave it sitting out."

"Me? Surely not."

"You're the nosiest guy in the whole damn camp, Hughes."

"I was a reporter in another life...old habits die hard." He shrugged. "And I'd rather write to my wife about people, she doesn't need to hear about the gore."

"Fair enough." He watched the black liquid idly swirl around the mug. "Propeller guy's alive, by the way. They'll probably court martial him for what he did to his partner, but he's alive."

"That patient was writhing in pain and drugged half out of his mind," Maes began, knocking back his own mug. "How the hell could you tell he was lying about what happened to his friend?"

"I've always been good at reading people." It was his turn to shrug and he took another sip, glad the brew was strong. "It's why the other officers no longer invite me to play cards. They don't seem to appreciate when I take their cash."

"So, you like hustling money from people."

"Only occasionally." He smirked into his cup, and then his tone turned wry. "But it's not like that particular talent does me any good with letters. I never know what she's thinking."

"Ahh..." Hughes exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "We're talking about the woman with excellent taste in coffee, now."

"We are. And I'm sure I'll regret telling you this..." Roy shook his head in disbelief at what he was about to say. "...I miss someone I've never actually met. It sounds ridiculous, and I think it makes me almost as insane as you. But you still hold the record."

"I disagree...I'm not the one that's blown anything up."

"You cause one little explosion and suddenly that's all anyone remembers." He paused when the dog again nuzzled his hand to ask for attention. "The patient lit the disturbingly short fuse on a fucking stick of dynamite. What was I supposed to do...hold on to it?"

"No, but throwing it into the latrines may not have been the best idea."

"Yes...that could've gone better." He snorted. "I was aiming for Hakuro's truck, but the bastard drove away."

Hughes chuckled appreciatively, coaxing the dog to visit him with a strip of jerky, and the two men shared a coffee-laden silence while the stray moved between them looking to be further spoiled. The night was unusually quiet, and the unwelcome thought occurred that it was the calm before an as yet unseen storm. Finally, Maes said, "It's not ridiculous." Some impulse led Roy to slide her picture from his wallet, and the other man added, "That's her?...Damn, Miss Hawkeye's a _looker_."

"I noticed." Eyeing the photo, he said, "Before she sent me this, I worried I was writing to Havoc's grandmother."

"Myrtle Havoc's too good for you, Doc," Jean retorted, tossing mystery objects at each man and following it up with the belated warning, "Incoming."

Roy looked up just in time to catch the box that had been lobbed in his direction. "What's this?"

"Mail just came with our latest shipment of armored cows and dog food…arrived a few days late, but it came." Havoc slouched in another of the seats. "They went to a different field hospital by mistake."

"Jean, remind me to stab you accidentally in surgery one of these days," Roy abruptly declared, pulling items from the package while endeavoring to ignore the immediate improvement in his mood upon seeing her handwriting on the box.

"What the hell did I do?"

"You keep telling your wife I like these damn candy bars..." He started throwing them at the other man one by one. "...so she'll send _more_."

"I know," Havoc cackled. "I've got Fuery's mom sending them, too."

Roy heard Hughes make a joke about the blond soldier's candy obsession, but he was too distracted by the polished wooden box nestled among the wrappings to truly pay attention. It had a dark finish that he could not identify in the dim light, and his jaw fell slack when he opened it, because in the velvet-lined interior rested an expertly crafted folding knife that he recognized instantly. "Holy shit. It's a Curtis J977 tactical knife."

"Not possible," Hughes replied. "I looked into getting one...there's a four year waiting list."

"No, it definitely is." He lifted the knife and it was comfortably heavy, the metal just barely cold against his fingertips. When he tripped the release the blade flipped out fluidly, glinting slightly when it caught the yellow light from a lantern, his grip solid on the well-formed handle. "I was shopping around before and this was my favorite. Thought I was just shit outta luck."

Havoc glanced over, confirming with a nod that it was a Curtis knife. "Hawkeye's got connections, my friends."

His lips curved unbidden when he noticed the sheet of paper wedged in the lid of the wooden case. Unfolding it, he saw:

 _December 12, 1943_

 _Roy,_

 _Ours has been a madhouse, as you can imagine. Rosie caught Christmas fever a full month early this year, and it seems she's recruited Hania as a co-conspirator. I swear they've developed some form of telepathy, because when one settles down the other creates one fuss or another. Or they've secretly planned out how best to exhaust us._

 _Anyway, it feels a bit like that phrase you told me about. Situation normal, all fucked up._

 _Between work and the girls, we've all been run ragged. Sheska's still recuperating, and we try to make her rest, but she's becoming as stubborn as we are (which is impressive). We finally met Walter's new friend, Lynette. She's wonderfully nice, and much more headstrong than the last woman he brought around. I don't think Bec will be able to scare her off so easily._

 _I'm afraid this is a little rushed, but your gift just arrived and I wanted to forward it on immediately. I'm sitting in front of the post office writing this (Mrs. Raven's giving me odd looks), and I promise to send another letter soon. On the subject of gifts, I understand you've had your eye on one of these for a while. I do hope you like it. Take care of yourself, Colonel._

 _Merry Christmas,_

 _Riza_

 _P.S. The photos have been destroyed as discussed. I was tempted to keep them for future use as blackmail, but I refrained. You're welcome._

Still smiling, he picked up the knife again, freeing the blade once more before folding it securely and slipping it onto his belt. It was not until he did so that he noticed her photo was still out and, at the very second he reached for his wallet to put it away, Breda arrived with a buoyant greeting of, "Merry Christmas, assholes." Dropping into the last remaining chair, he caught sight of the photo and observed, "He keeps it in his wallet now...that's _adorable_."

"And so it begins." Roy's grin somehow turned both resigned and amused at once.

"If you need advice on asking her to dinner, I'm happy to help," Havoc informed him.

"Thanks, but I can handle it."

"Maybe he's more interested in grandma Havoc." Hughes glanced at him with eyebrows raised suggestively. "Myrtle sounds like a nice lady."

"No jokes about my grandmother, you heathens," came the blond soldier's rejoinder.

"Oh _hell_...there must be someone in dire need of surgery somewhere," Roy dryly hoped as the antics intensified, rubbing at his temples and stretching out his tired legs. He stayed for an hour after his shift ended, once he was officially on-call rather than on-duty, sipping coffee and keeping up with the banter until his fatigue set in so deeply he could hardly keep his eyes open any longer. On the subsequent walk back to his bunk, he eyed the letter still in his hand, and his mien brightened once more.

* * *

April 19, 1944 – Leighton, Amestris

Tea in one hand and a collection of envelopes in the other, Riza shut herself in the front office to spend the morning working on a few designs. The moment she sat a tiny sigh escaped her, because atop the blotter rested a postcard that bore a script she recognized, though it did not belong to Mustang. Flipping it over, she read:

 _You should know, the Colonel loves finger-painting. Respectfully, Lt. Breda_

She chuckled and added it to the growing pile of unexpected letters from the Lieutenant, the first of which had arrived two months prior. They were always short, and the content was often similar to the most recent addition, for instance: _The Colonel lost your photo and requests another...He also wonders if you happen to have one from your most recent beach trip_ (she was much too intelligent to fall for that); or, _T_ _he Doc's new favorite cookie is the snickerdoodle…especially those from the bakery on 106_ _th_ _ & Stelver_; and one simply said, _COFFEE. COFFEE._ _COFFEE_.

In truth, they were more entertaining than anything else, and if writing her silly notes helped him in some way, she was happy to be the recipient. Nonetheless, she tossed them into one of the drawers, clearing space on the desktop for various design sketches, and set to work. Through her mind ran the changes she'd decided to make to both a rifle and pistol they were developing, as well as a few alterations on a custom order from Mr. Curtis.

She worked diligently for two hours, and made substantial progress, but her eye was repeatedly drawn to the short stack of letters waiting patiently on the edge of the desk. Finishing the notations for the current set of schematics, she gave in and reached over to open the first envelope, lips curving before she even unfolded the pages. It had long since become her usual response to receiving mail from the Colonel.

 _April 2, 1944_

 _Riza,_

 _First, I have to thank you for sending so much extra coffee – Breda was pestering me incessantly, and I passed on to him the name and location of that shop where you find it. His parents live in East City, so he should be set. And I threatened him at scalpel-point to stop bothering you with postcards. I also reminded him of my title (the pyromaniac surgeon of the MR54), and I think he'll leave you alone. For a while._

 _And, my apologies, but Hughes managed to get your address as well, and he has a photographic memory so there's not much I can do. I'm not sure what he wants to write you about, but it may be fairly benign, probably something to do with his wife's birthday coming up. Or his plans are more nefarious. With Hughes, we never know._

 _Now, it's my turn for news. To start, we haven't lost anyone this week, and we're hoping that luck doesn't run out. As you probably know, Havoc's of the 'Speak and you'll jinx it' school of thought, but I frequently ignore him and it always turns out fine. This is completely unrelated, but the other day we were shooting skeet with hardtack, and I won our little tournament (I'm sure you're congratulating me...thank you very much). I hear you should be my next competition – Havoc says you'd wipe the floor with me._

 _Even better..._

Her reading was interrupted when, from the other room, Becca said, "Riz...get in here."

The woman's tone had her out of the chair in a heartbeat, and once in the sitting room she found her friend staring impatiently at the radio. The look in her eye formed a pit in Riza's stomach. Still in the doorway she waited, until the advertisement for Cord n' Reels finally ended and the newscaster said in that high-pitched, rushed speech, "We apologize for the delay, folks. Before the short break we relayed the devastating news of an attack on one of our military field hospitals..." She clutched the letter in her hand and sank slowly onto the couch. "...and we are now able to confirm it was staffed by the 54th Medical Regiment..."

"No..." she breathed, as Becca's hand clamped over her own.

"...Very little information is available at this time, but the military has thus far confirmed fifty casualties and at least as many injured. We will continue to broadcast updates as we receive them. Our thoughts are with the members of the MR54 and their families. Please..."

She switched off the radio and an emptiness seemed to fall over the room, the newfound silence anything but comforting. The pair stayed like that for a long while, hands clasped, staring ahead in shock, desperately trying to find a shred of hope on which to focus. Eventually the brunette gave her hand a squeeze and breathed, "I need a minute."

In something of a fog Riza disappeared into her own room, dazedly lowering herself onto the bed and pulling the silk scarf onto her lap as her vision blurred. Roy Mustang had become a fixture in her life, one she hoped would be permanent once she finally met him, seeing as she already had trouble imagining her life without his messy handwriting, sly jokes, and ridiculous bar stories. And while she'd known all along his death was a possibility, she was now forced to thoroughly contemplate that terrifying alternative. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "He'll be fine...he'll be fine..."

* * *

May 1, 1944 – The Bradley Arms Manufacturing Plant, East City, Amestris

Riza snapped the butt-stock of the rifle into place and hefted the reassembled weapon with one hand, grabbing a box of ammo as she passed into the indoor gun range. She strolled toward the stall at the far end, which had become her favorite, noting the way her footsteps echoed through the empty room. The quiet was therapeutic, calming, and yet much like her active home it failed to distract her from the worry that intensified each day she did not see his familiar script on an envelope. It had been nearly two weeks since that horrible radio broadcast, and they'd received no word from or about either man. Her grandfather even had calls out to various military contacts, but the chaos had been so great that people were still being found.

"Are you almost ready?" Becca asked from the doorway behind her, a thread of tension now underlying her usually bubbly personality, one that would doubtless remain until she learned of Jean's fate.

She turned and gave her friend a little nod. "This is the last one...an extra from another line Bradley wanted me to test. I'll be done in fifteen."

"It's a nice day out...I'll wait at the truck."

"Alright," Riza called behind her as she reached her destination, setting the weapon down and looping the protective ear muffs around her neck. She let out a little sigh, because she hated that constant hint of fear in Becca's voice, and then pulled the old Aerugonian coin from her pocket. Each time she ran her thumb over its face she could not help but quirk her lips, and the tiny surge of hope it gave her meant she did that often. For that reason, among others, she'd taken to carrying it around with her every day, and before loading the weapon she set it on the table.

She fired several shots, taking note of the way the stock felt against her shoulder, the recoil, the accuracy, and any number of other details. Potential alterations ran through her head, but the rifle performed well, and the fact that it was her design raised her spirits to some extent. Riza quickly tidied up and climbed the stairs, where she ran into Mr. Bradley, who asked, "How was the prototype, Miss Hawkeye?"

" _Excellent_." She paused to sign her time card. "I'll make notes on the schematics and bring them in tomorrow."

"Good," he replied with a resolute nod, holding up a folder with one hand. "This is incredible work...better than your father's, and he was the best. Well done."

"Thank you."

"Miss Hawkeye," a voice interrupted, Bradley's receptionist soon poking her head into the hall. "We have a call for you."

Excusing herself, she took the phone with an uncertain, "Hello?"

"I'm glad I caught you before you left," her grandfather replied. "I just heard back...2nd Lieutenant Jean Havoc was transferred to East City Hospital this morning. He's there now."

Her heart leapt. "And…?"

"No mention of Colonel Mustang...I'm sorry, m'dear. He's still M.I.A."

The now familiar sinking feeling returned to her chest, albeit improved by the return of her friend. "Thanks. We'll head over to the hospital. Can you…?"

"I already picked up Rosie."

"Thanks. I'll update you later." She hung up and raced outside, ignoring the curious looks she received from coworkers as she searched for her keys, forgetting briefly that her friend was already in the truck. The brunette in question only managed to narrow her eyes in bewilderment before Riza yanked open the door and greeted, "Walter found Jean...he's at East City Hospital as we speak."

"Oh my god, Riz." Becca stared, grabbing her hand so tightly her knuckles turned white. " _Oh my god_."

What ensued was a somewhat blurred half-hour of navigating busy city roads and rushing through hospital hallways in a desperate search. In the whirlwind of passing innumerable doctors and patients her hope began to return, because he _could_ be there. She felt like a terrible person, horrendously selfish, because her friend was alive, in the same city, but she could not stop thinking about Mustang. Could not stop hoping. She _couldn't stop_.

The pair halted in the doorway when they found him, and Becca grabbed her hand again at the sight of his bruised and battered body. There was a gash over his left eye, the right side of his face was swollen, scrapes were visible on his arms, and his left leg was in a cast. The doctor checking his vitals held up a hand to keep them at the door while listening to his chest, and then joined them a moment later, guiding them into the hall. He shook both their hands, and said, "Mrs. Havoc and Miss Hawkeye, I presume?"

"That's us," Riza replied, trying her best to be optimistic.

"I'm Major Armstrong...I worked with Lieutenant Havoc at the field hospital, traveled back with him. I've heard quite a bit about you ladies." He waved toward the door. "He looks much worse than he is. The injuries to his face and arms are superficial, and he has a broken femur which has been set. He's sedated...that type of break can be extremely painful, and he's had trouble sleeping, but he should wake soon."

"So he's alright. He'll be alright," the brunette said anxiously.

"Yes, he'll be alright," Armstrong reassured, glancing down the hall and giving someone a nod. "I have one other patient to check on, but I'll be back shortly. It was a pleasure to meet you both."

"Thank you, Major Armstrong," Riza responded while Becca yanked her into the room, hand tightening around hers by the second.

"Am I a terrible wife if I wake him up?"

"No, of course not. I'll give you..."

"Wake me up?" a groggy voice interrupted from the direction of the hospital bed. "Rebecca Havoc….I heard you talking to the nurse down the hall." Becca let out a laugh that was half-sob and moved to take his hand, leaning over to kiss him soundly. There was some murmured conversation which Riza missed, trying to silently step out the door to give them privacy and ask after Mustang, but then the same scratchy voice stopped her with, "He's not here, Riz."

The pang in her chest was sharp as she paced toward the bed, wringing her hands. "Is he…?" She could not quite finish the thought. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Jean's free hand wrapped around hers. "Last I saw he was alive...running off to save someone. And the damn dog followed him. That's all I know. That's all anyone knows. I'm sorry." He glanced at his wife. "He saved my life, so the bastard better still be alive."

"Thank you." Try as she might, she only managed a muted smile and squeezed his hand. "I'm so happy to see you, Jean, but I...I'll be right back. Excuse me." Slipping back into the hall, Riza found the nearest restroom and leaned against the cold tile wall, unable to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks. She took the damn coin from her pocket yet again, and tried to remind herself that he'd last been seen _alive_.

* * *

May 22, 1944 – Leighton, Amestris

The barbecue in honor of Jean's recovery was even more lively than they'd anticipated, and guests were still arriving, which meant this party was going to last well into the night. Though the sky looked ominous, dark clouds rolling and scuttling across it, the rain held off and they benefited from a cool breeze that cut the evening heat nicely. Riza meandered through the crowd, greeting guests and chatting here and there in her efforts to be appropriately cheerful.

She was naturally overjoyed that her friend had made it home alive, albeit not without injury, but she found herself preoccupied with concern for a certain surgeon from the 54th who had yet to resurface. It clung in the back of her mind and had the potential to make her appear significantly less jubilant than she might otherwise have been, but she refused to let her feelings dampen the evening for Becca and Rosie. On a slightly related note, the idea of actually meeting said surgeon set her nerves on edge, which only served to make her already existing anxiety that much more pronounced, so she tried to distract herself by socializing. Her success was questionable.

Catching her grandfather's eye across the yard, she excused herself from her present conversation and took a beer from the chilled bin near the garage. Joining him at the fire pit, she handed it to him and said, "You _are_ capable of getting your own drinks, you know."

"Someone has to make sure the lawn doesn't catch fire. I'm protecting everyone."

"You're _avoiding_ everyone."

"You're one to talk." He put an arm around her shoulders. "I see what you're doing...keeping busy, playing hostess so you don't always have to mingle."

"You're seeing things, old man."

"I'm sure he's fine, m'dear." He gave her shoulders another squeeze, grabbing a stick to push packets of mulligan stew around the coals.

She nodded, both in gratitude and to convince herself he was right. "Do you need anything else?"

"Just come visit me again in a little while."

"Will do." She made her way to the laden buffet table then, collecting several empty dishes to haul to the kitchen. As she passed Becca, she gave the baby in her arms a kiss on the cheek, laughing softly when Hania latched onto a lock of her hair. "Where's Sheska?"

"Playing euchre." Seeing all the casseroles and crocks she carried, her friend added, "Stop working, would you?"

"I'm just keeping things moving," she responded, giving the other woman a look that meant, _I'm fine_. "I'll be back with more cornbread."

In the kitchen she set the dirty cookware in the sink and turned to lean against the counter, staring at some unfixed point, one hand absentmindedly playing with a towel. On a whim she strode through to the hall, smiling at a guest that said something in passing she could not quite make out. She then sought refuge in the first floor office, breathing deeply in the relative silence and pacing to lean her back against the wall. The hum of the party out back continued, but here she could find a little peace, and once alone her face fell.

The fear that he was dead had been a constant over the past weeks, and for what must have been the millionth time she pulled the old coin from her pocket, thumb rubbing over the smooth surface. Amestris and Aerugo had even agreed to a tentative cease-fire, but still Roy Mustang was _missing-in-action_. Every time the phone rang she dreaded answering, terrified it might be Chris calling to inform her they found his body somewhere. It killed her to think that she may never even have a moment with him, that a box full of letters might eventually be her only memories. That demoralizing train of thought was the most obtrusive and, while she strove to remain hopeful, some days that came more easily than others.

After mere seven minutes of escape, the front screen door croaked open and snapped shut, the new arrival's steps pausing in the foyer. With another breath she hid the coin away and tried to wipe all evidence of sadness from her mien as she stepped out of the office. When she emerged Rosie was already racing out back with a giggling Elicia, and Riza grinned upon being pulled into a hug. "Gracia...it's wonderful to see you again."

"Thank you for inviting us." The other woman waved a hand at the man standing beside her. "This is my husband, Maes. Maes, this is Riza Hawkeye."

"I finally get to meet the famous Hughes," she replied, shaking his hand. "I've heard so much about you."

"A pleasure to meet you." His expression was good-humored and friendly, but she did not miss the sympathy in his eyes. "I've heard a lot about you as well."

Her mouth quirked again, and she lingered fleetingly on the fact that Mustang may have talked about her, but her attention was soon drawn to the dish in his other hand. "Gracia, you didn't have to _bring_ anything. We're drowning in food out there."

"I know you told me I didn't have to, but I can't walk into a party empty-handed."

Hughes passed her the dish, adding, "It's one of her compulsions, and _this_ is apple crumble. It's excellent...I tested it for safety."

"Thank you," she chuckled, pointing toward the back of the house. "Head on out through the kitchen, everyone's in the backyard. Drinks and food are by the garage….please help yourselves." While the other pair moved away, she stopped in the dining room to uncover the apple crumble, which looked divine, and pick up another dish of cornbread in her vain attempt to keep up with the Havoc family's obsession with that particular quickbread. Pushing her way out the door, she deposited both on the buffet table and stopped to grabbed a beer, meandering over to her grandfather once again. "I don't suppose you have a bottle opener on you."

"Of course I do. What kind of question is that?" He flipped the cap off the bottle and held onto it. "Always bringing me beer...you're just the best granddaughter a man could ask for."

"I am, I know...but that's _mine_ ," she responded, repossessing the bottle. "I just brought you one, you _lush_." After taking a sip she asked, "Where's Lynette?"

"Off arguing with Rebecca somewhere, I'm sure."

"I like her. Becca needs more people in her life to disagree with her." Riza swayed in time to the song playing on the little radio nearby.

"They can disagree," the brunette said, choosing that rather opportune moment to join them. "But they'll be wrong." Gesturing at Walter with her drink she asked, "Geezer...you have another extension cord? The guest of honor has decided he'd like to dance and we need to bring the bigger radio outside."

"Havoc's never danced a day in his life," Riza chuckled, eyes narrowing as she caught sight of Rosie and Elicia playing near the willow. "Bec...when did we adopt a dog?"

"That's news to me. I thought the Hughes family brought her."

"No, I saw them walk in. They only brought apple crumble, no pets."

"While you two figure that out...I'll just go get that other cord in my garage," Walter interjected, strolling away toward the path that led to his house.

" _Apple crumble_...fantastic," Becca said to herself, already eyeing the buffet table from a distance.

Just then the dog streaked around excitedly, and Rosie let out a mirthful shout, " _Mais_ ie!"

Riza's stomach dropped, eyes widening as they scanned the gathering with greater interest, and she quietly repeated, "Maisie."

"What's that?" the brunette asked in confusion.

"Maisie was the _dog_ , Bec. The one they took care of at the field hospital."

"Wasn't she with Mus..."

" _Yes_." Handing the beer bottle to her friend she started to move through the assemblage, her chest growing increasingly tense while her gaze jumped from one guest to the next. When that proved fruitless she strode hurriedly toward the gate, following the drive in the direction of the front lawn, thinking he must have arrived quite recently. However she passed only silent vehicles, reaching the front yard to find it also devoid of people. On a last ditch impulse, Riza then climbed the front steps to perform a hurried walk-through of the first floor of the house, but it was empty as well.

The sinking of her chest was acute, having allowed herself to fervently hope once more, and she returned to the solitude of the front porch with a disappointed sigh. For the past month she'd had to keep both her extreme hope and undeniable worry safely tucked away, for the sake of her sanity, while she waited to learn the truth. Thus she wiped at the corners of her eyes as well as she could, trying her utmost to force the tears back into their cage, and stared out into the growing dusk.

Riza exhaled slowly, nearly ready to rejoin the festivities, and then glanced to the side when a figure rounded the corner of the house. Her breath immediately caught because, even in the low light, she recognized that face from the photo at which she'd been too apt to stare for months. The image had done him _very_ little justice. His black hair had the faintest touch of gray at the temple, he looked ridiculously handsome in his simple button down shirt, and she noticed a scrape on his left cheek that was still healing.

His gait slowed when he saw her, watching her with eyes so dark a brown they were almost black as he climbed the first couple steps. Pacing to meet him, she examined his features and pulled in a steadying breath, while intense relief built behind her eyes. That nervous thrill sliced keenly through her once more and she tentatively reached toward his jaw, just grazing him with her fingertips to gently turn his face for a better view of the cut. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he reassured, and she found she liked the sound of his voice, smooth and pleasantly deep. "I was lucky." He paused, adding, "I know I should've called instead of showing up out of nowhere, but I needed to see you."

That made her smile. "No, I...I'm glad you're here." She looked away before finding his gaze once more. "You scared the _shit_ out of me, Roy Mustang."

"I intend to have plenty of opportunities to make it up to you, Riza Hawkeye."

Feeling suddenly warm, she reached up to properly cup his jaw, and he responded by lightly placing a hand on her hip, as though he'd been respectfully waiting for an indication that the gesture would be welcomed. Her stomach tensed wonderfully and she caught his eye, her hand curving round his jaw until her fingers found his hair. She felt his hand move to her lower back, and she took that as an invitation to shift even closer, bringing her other palm to his waist. All at once his head dipped with the light pull of her hand, his arm tightening around her while she grabbed his shirt, and they kissed. Her cheeks flushed from the slow, deliberate way his lips moved against hers, like he'd thought about it more than once, and she gripped him fiercely, as if to prove to herself he was real. He'd survived, he was there.

When they leaned back slightly, her hand trailed down to his chest and she said, "I never got to ask... _Maisie_?"

"Hughes named her, the narcissist." He took one of her hands, and his skin felt warm against hers. "And I really hope you like dogs, because I couldn't leave her."

She began to walk backward, leading him up onto the porch as music started up in the backyard. "Very much, actually."

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and abruptly pulled her into another kiss before she'd taken two steps. With an impossibly handsome smirk, and a hand tangled in her hair, he said, "You should expect that to happen frequently."

Her grin intensified, a feat which at that point should have been impossible. "I'll find a way to cope."

"I hope so," he said, voice low.

Face falling slightly, she vacillated temporarily and asked, "What happened?"

"I was shot," he began, quickly adding, " _Once_. It was through and through, and I'm fine." He inhaled hesitantly, and continued, "I was stuck in enemy territory with a small unit that radioed for a surgeon during the attack. We managed to escape, but...it was slow going. That's why I'm so late to the party." He glanced away, and shook his head. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, honestly, but my time in Aerugo isn't exactly what I want to think about right now."

A light blush crept up her cheeks and she took his hand again, this time leading him toward the driveway. "Walk with me."

Lacing their fingers together, he asked, "Where are we going?"

"Nowhere really, I'm just not ready to share you yet."

"A walk is fine with me...I'm too tired for much else. I only stopped home long enough to bathe and steal my aunt's truck." He was silent for several steps. "I know this was forward of me, and if it's too much..."

"It's not," she interrupted softly, stopping him with a hand on his chest and thinking that smile of his would end up driving her mad in the best possible way. "We could return your aunt's truck in the morning. It'd give me the chance to try one of those amazing omelettes you like to talk about."

"Sounds perfect," he replied, lips grazing the back of her hand. "If you're asking me to breakfast, that must mean I'm invited to stay the night."

"Sure." She bit back a smirk. "Would you prefer the guest room or your truck? _Maisie_ can sleep with me and my cat."

"I'm happy to sleep wherever you like." Without preamble he drew her into another kiss, one made brief by her laughter when they nearly toppled over. They regained their balance, but neither relinquished their hold on the other, incredibly loathe to let each other go now that they were finally in the same place. Thoughts of a stroll were soon forgotten, and instead the pair fell into an impromptu dance, slowly swaying in time with the music, alone on the moonlight-dappled lawn.

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story, and have a great day!

 **AN2:** Response(s) to guest review(s):

dvltgr: Thank you! I'm so happy you liked the first part, and that the letters were enjoyable to read. I was hoping they'd turn out alright :)

Red: Thank you so much! It's wonderful to hear that you're enjoying the story, and that you like this kind of meet-cute! You called my story beautiful...I'm so flattered :)

Guest: Thank you! I'm glad you like it!


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